


Where Our Hearts Hunger

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The world could be so much more than shallow encounters and jobs to be completed, but it was going to kill him first.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Cousland, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden, Zevran Arainai/Isabela, Zevran Arainai/Rinna, Zevran Arainai/Rinna/Taliesen, Zevran Arainai/Taliesen
Comments: 33
Kudos: 19





	1. The House of Crows, Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I began reading tortuosity’s [Songs of the Pirate Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17621633/chapters/41545340#workskin) and was almost halfway through when I was struck by a sudden, dazzling need to do something similar for Zevran. I reached out to her on tumblr and got her blessing to go ahead with my plan. (If you haven’t read it, you should go read _Songs of the Pirate Queen_. It’s very long, very, very good, and already completed.)
> 
> This is a slightly messy biography of one Zevran Arainai, more or less chronological in order, and hewing more or less to established canon. Some of the chapters are very dark, others less so, and it would be a tragedy if it didn't end in a happily ever after. This will likely end up being the primary backbone of my other fanfiction, especially as quite a lot of it is stuff that's been rattling in my head but still needed to be put down somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snow White Blood, “Shadows Of Our Yesterdays”
> 
> _We are lost in here  
>  Never we’ll find our way home  
> Our way home  
> In a maze of branches, roots  
> and leaves, all alone  
> All alone_
> 
> **Content warning for child abuse and murder.**

“One. Two. Three…”

Zevran sat still on the cold, damp ground as he counted in his mind. He knew there were other recruits out there with him, but he wasn’t sure who they were. His bottom was sore and his legs ached. He and the other recruits had woken up as they were blindfolded, shocked out of sleep by hands on their faces, rousing them out of bed. No one spoke as they were silently marched out to a carriage. Someone put their hands on his waist to lift him into his seat. They spent the day in darkness, listening to the horses and the creaking of the wheels. Master Ordoño led them out of the carriage when it finally stopped. Zevran knew when his boots touched the ground that they were far away from the compound. Dirt and slick grass under his soles. Not cobblestone or tiled streets. Zevran kept tripping over roots as they walked. Someone, a girl, tripped and cried when she landed on the ground.

Ordoño walked them through the wilderness for a long time, then sat them on the ground. Zevran had felt his hands on his shoulders, pushing him down, telling him not to move. Someone moved around them and disturbed the ground. He felt leathers brush past his arm as they maneuvered around the recruits. Ordoño spoke again after hours of silence: _Your trial is to survive until sunrise_ , he’d said, then told them to count to ten before removing their blindfolds. Zevran listened to him leave.

“…Eight. Nine. Ten.”

The chorus of children’s voices fell silent as they all pulled off their blindfolds. Zevran winced at the bright light. He rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, then blinked and tried again. Five faces in various states of discomfort looked back at him. He knew them all: Vellito, Taliesen, Evescha, Joia, Sarra. All six recruits were arranged in a circle on the damp ground, with six daggers placed on the ground in front of them.

Joia was the first to speak. “Is Master Ordoño coming back?”

Vellito scowled at her. “Of _course_ he’s coming back. Don’t be dumb.”

Joia shrank at the barb and lowered her eyes to the dagger on the ground. Sarra inched closer to her and wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders, but apart from a glare, no one stood up for her. It was rare that anyone ever stood up to him, even if they quietly loathed him.

Zevran shifted uncomfortably and looked around. Ordoño had brought them to a swamp. They were surrounded on all sides by trees so tall and old that only small patches of the skies came through. Little pieces of red and orange, like puzzle-pieces, breaking in through the green and gray all around them. It was noisy, even when no one spoke. Insects hummed, frogs belched, the wind disturbed the grass, something plopped underwater in a nearby stream. The heat here was harsh and thick. It made him sweat just sitting there. The ground underneath him was covered in slick grass, slightly damp, as if it had rained recently. He’d heard no rain during their approach.

Evescha eyed their surroundings warily, ignoring the dagger in front of him. He was another elven boy discovered in a whorehouse—somewhere in Treviso, Zevran thought. A year older than him, but small-boned with violet eyes that were too large for his face. “Where are we?” he wondered out loud.

It was Taliesen who answered: “The Tellari swamps.”

Vellito seized his dagger and pointed the blade at him. “We’re not in the Tellari swamps,” he sneered with enough confidence to make the other recruits doubtful. He was the oldest among them at ten. Something about him reminded Zevran of a noble’s son that used to frequent the whorehouse. It was his pale green eyes and straight nose. Or maybe it was the haughty way that he carried himself. Vellito always acted like he was in charge, even when he wasn’t. “Master Ordoño wouldn’t bring us there. There’s _witches_.”

“There’s only _one swamp_ in Antiva,” Taliesen challenged. He was a marvel: the only one among them not afraid of Vellito. His only advantage was that he was the only other human present, but even back at the compound, he was unafraid. He was smaller and thinner with a head of dark hair that grew out unevenly. An outbreak of lice had spread through the recruits before Zevran arrived. His hair was still growing back from where they’d shaved it. “There’s nowhere else he could’ve taken us.”

“El Catástrofe thinks he knows something,” Vellito taunted.

“Don’t call me that,” Taliesen warned, snatching up the dagger and pointing it at him. Everyone else shrank away from him. “I could kill you out here. Master Ordoño wouldn’t even care.”

“Ordoño would kill you if you tried,” Vellito said, but they all heard the hint of doubt that crept into his voice. “And you couldn’t beat me even if you wanted to.”

“We’ll all have to kill each other eventually,” Taliesen replied darkly. He hadn’t lowered the dagger.

Zevran heard the sound of someone coming through the trees. “Quiet, both of you!” he interrupted. There was no need for him to interrupt—Vellito was silent and fuming—but the argument hung in the air as the two human boys glared at each other. Zevran didn’t care. He pointed at the trees. “I think Master Ordoño is coming back for us.”

The recruits fell silent as the footsteps crept through the wilderness. Zevran caught Evescha looking on with worry. He wondered if it was a good sign that Ordoño had decided to come back for them so quickly. If they failed their trial, the punishment would be brutal. Zevran had already been whipped once in the three months that he’d spent with House Arainai, when he was caught picking an andris out of a master’s pocket. He never wanted to feel that kind of pain again.

Taliesen was the first to pull himself to his feet. He clutched his dagger warily, staring into the darkness as though he expected a beast to come tumbling out. Vellito scrambled to his feet a second later, and then everyone else rose, not wanting to be the last still sitting on the ground.

But it wasn’t Ordoño that stepped into the clearing.

Master Axera emerged from the trees, wearing a bird-like mask and black leathers. She held a throwing dagger in her right hand. They all knew it was her because of the old scar on her throat, from ear to ear, where someone had once tried to kill her. Because she was an elf, the rumor said. Everyone was a little bit terrified of her, but now the recruits were relieved to see a familiar face.

“Master Axera,” Vellito began in that tone that meant he was going to tattle on someone else. “Taliesen said—”

Zevran didn’t _see_ the dagger leave her hand so much as he _felt_ it. It was like it was transported twenty feet away in the blink of an eye, landing in Evescha’s forehead with enough force to snap his head back. He clearly heard the dull sound of the blade penetrating the bone. Then Evescha was falling backward, landing on the ground with a muffled _thump!_ , blood leaking into his hair. His thin features were still arranged in a look of shock, his too-large violet eyes open and staring at nothing.

Joia screamed.

Axera ignored her as she withdrew another throwing dagger. Her mouth grinned beneath her mask, flashing teeth. “Master Ordoño should have told you,” she said. “Your trial is to survive until sunrise.”

“Run!”

It was Taliesen who shouted, and it seemed to break the spell that had fallen over the recruits all at once. They scattered in three different directions. Taliesen threw himself into the trees a second after he’d shouted at the rest of them, and Zevran tore after him. Joia and Sarra retreated in another direction, and Vellito swore and disappeared into a third. Zevran stumbled through the trees, somehow managing to catch every other root. He tripped and sensed something pass above his head on the way down. His amber eyes raised to the tree ahead of him, where a throwing dagger was lodged in the bark up to its hilt.

Zevran picked himself up, grabbed his dagger, and continued to run.

His knees and hands were stinging, and he’d completely lost sight of Taliesen. He fled through the trees until he realized he could no longer hear anyone behind him, and it was only then that he dared to stop. His lungs burned, his legs throbbed. He brushed his hair out of his face as he turned around and peered through the wilderness with a growing sense of apprehension. The old trees made him feel small and alone. He was drenched in hot sweat, but underneath, his body felt cold.

Had he lost her?

Zevran listened. Each breath he dragged into his lungs made his chest burn. It was hard to hear over his own ragged breathing, but he was certain that he was alone. He peered at the trees and selected a new path at random. His hands were scraped and dirt clung to the front of his clothes. He ignored the new aches in his body as he wandered through the wilderness, taking care to move quietly. If he wanted to not be found in the whorehouse, he had to be small and quiet, because there were only so many places to hide. But the swamp had _too many_ places to hide, and he just wanted to not be found.

A branch reached out and snatched his breeches, ripping them at the hem. Zevran jerked his leg free with a scowl and continued deeper into the wilderness, following a path he was making up as he went along. His horror faded into worry that Ordoño never found him, then into relief that he couldn’t be found, then into curiosity that he might somehow find his way back to the whorehouse. Zevran never really cared about the Antivan Crows. He only cared that he was compradi and had a way out of the whorehouse—and now that he was here, he just wanted to go back. The madame never made him run for his life through a _swamp_.

If the Maker was real, then the Maker was a _jerk_.

Zevran was suddenly struck by the creepy feeling that someone was watching him. He stopped and looked around warily, his stinging fingers clutching the handle of his dagger. Every shadow seemed to hold a pair of eyes that were watching him. He rotated in a full circle and saw nothing, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. So he left this path and started picking out a new one.

By then he was lost. Zevran knew he was lost, and it scared him a little bit to think he could end up wandering through the swamps forever. Vellito said there were witches in these swamps. He wondered if that was true.

An enormous root jutted out of the ground a short ways down his new path. It rose too high for him to step over without climbing and not high enough for him to crawl underneath. He held his dagger between his teeth and dug his fingers into the bark, hoisting himself onto the root, then swung his legs over and prepared to drop down the other side. Bark snagged his breeches, dirt smeared against the underside of his legs. He dropped down onto the ground—landing wrong, his foot twisting underneath him.

Zevran toppled over with a cry that dropped his dagger at the same time. Tree bark raked up his back on the way down, and he landed painfully on his foot. His face screwed up with tears, but he bit the inside of his cheek and forced it back down. He was too old to cry. “Damn it,” he swore in a thick, wet voice instead. Sancia, one of the girls, once told him that swearing made the pain go away, but he just felt sore and humiliated. He pried his foot out from underneath him and flexed his toes. It hurt, but everything moved. He reached for his dagger.

And then he saw the body.

Zevran started to scream, but a hand shot out from the shadows and came down on his mouth. It scared him so badly he dropped the dagger. Another arm was slung around his chest and pinned him in place. He forgot his terror long enough to struggle against their grip, somehow working one arm free and thrusting his elbow up and behind him. It connected with a jaw, earning himself a swear, and the grip loosened. Before Zevran could escape, a hand shot up and grabbed him by the hair, giving it a sharp jerk.

“Stop _fighting_ me,” Taliesen hissed. “You’re going to get us both caught.”

Zevran recognized him for the first time through his blind panic, and he was suddenly embarrassed. “Perdón,” he mumbled. “I didn’t realize it was you.”

Taliesen glared at him. “I only came out here because you were going to give me away.” His dark eyes settled on the body. Joia was sprawled out in the center of the path with a gaping knife wound in her chest. Her curly hair was thrown out across the grass, a look of permanent surprise frozen on her features. “She came through on the same path you did and caught Joia by surprise. Then she kept going.” He pointed down the path. “If we stay near Joia, she won’t come back for a while.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“How do you know so much?”

“Because I pay attention.”

Zevran scowled at him as he retrieved his dagger. “Fine, since you know so much,” he groused. His gaze settled on Joia, despite his attempt to avoid looking at her. Something about how still she was disturbed him. “We can’t just leave her there. Shouldn’t we…do something?” One time, at the whorehouse, the madame covered the body of a patron with a sheet while they waited for the guards to arrive. But they didn’t have sheets out here. Maybe they could use some of the leaves or something.

Taliesen shook his head. “No, she’ll know that one of us was here if we have to cover her. We have to pretend we haven’t found her.”

“But—”

“I’m not going to help if you do,” Taliesen interrupted. He pulled out his dagger and started hacking, without much success, a path through the underbrush. “I’ll just leave you out here to get caught by her.”

“Fine, but you’re acting like a jerk. And you didn’t have to pull on my hair, Taliesen.”

“It was there and I didn’t want you to hit me again,” he said over his shoulder. “Maybe you should cut it if you don’t want people to pull on it. It makes you look like a girl, anyway.”

Zevran glared at him but said nothing.

***

They hid underneath a sprawling bush not too far from where Joia was killed. A low carpet of underbrush hid them from the path but also made it impossible to see the body or, from their vantage, anyone coming down the path. Zevran laid on his stomach with his dagger pressed between his small body and the cold ground. The handle was pointed up to his collarbone, so he could grab it easily. Taliesen’s idea. He was doing the same, but it was impossible to see in the dark. The small pieces of red and orange skies vanished, darkening until they turned deep blue. Soon the canopy of branches overhead was as dark as the sky.

For a long time, they did nothing but wait.

Zevran listed off everything he hated about this night in his head. He never knew why his mother left her clan to live in the city, but now it was starting to make sense. It was filthy and muggy. Roots kept jumping out to trip him. It was impossible to see after sundown. He was cramped underneath the bush, and his back and hands stung as sweat dripped into his scratches. And now he was on his stomach in the dirt, his clothes so filthy that he was having a hard time wiping his hands clean.

A drop of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Or he thought that’s what that was. He _really_ hoped it wasn’t a spider or something worse.

Taliesen was quiet. He blended into the shadows so well that it was almost impossible to see him at all. His eyes were fixed on the path they’d come from, one hand curled around the handle beneath his chest. He was so quiet that Zevran barely heard him breathe.

Zevran folded his hands and set his chin on them. He stared dully at the ground. _She_ was still out there hunting them, but she wouldn’t find them there, and he was so tired. His eyelids felt heavy. If he could just shut them for a moment…

***

Someone screamed.

Zevran was wrenched out of his sleep. He pushed himself to his knees, rattling the bush and getting his hair tangled in the branches, before remembering that he was supposed to be hidden. A hand seized him by the sleeve of his shirt and jerked him back down to the ground. He felt himself collide with the flat of the blade underneath him, at the same time his hair snarled on the spindly little branches above him. With one hand, he tried to free himself, and with the other, he tried to free his hair.

“Stop. _Moving_.” Taliesen whispered almost without making a sound, seizing both of his wrists and slamming them back down onto the ground. He slung one arm across his shoulderblades and forced him to stay flat.

Zevran started to push against him but stopped moving only when he realized that someone was sobbing. He recognized it immediately as Sarra. She sounded nearby; she’d probably found Joia on the ground. Her sobbing took an odd, muffled quality, as if she were covering her mouth with her hands, and she was saying something but crying so hard that it was impossible to understand her. He could almost picture her, staring down at the body in horror, her face red and wet with tears.

Finally, she said something he could understand: “Joia, how could she do this to you?” A muffled _thump!_ as her body hit the ground. “It’s not _fair_. Maker, it’s not _fair_. Joia was _nice_ and _sweet_ and she didn’t deserve this.”

Zevran renewed his struggles. Sarra was so loud that she was certainly going to draw attention to herself. “Taliesen,” he protested. “We have to tell her to hide.”

Taliesen seemed to understand something he didn’t. He resorted to throwing the upper half of his body on top of Zevran and wrapping one arm around his neck, pressing his hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare,” the boy whispered, mouth next to his pointed ear. “She’s coming. Don’t. Make. A _sound_.”

Zevran went still. He suddenly heard it.

Footsteps.

Sarra cried and pleaded with the body of her friend. It was agonizing listening to her sobs continue as if she was still alone. Zevran heard the exact moment when her sobs broke off into a wet sound of confusion. Then: “Master Axera?”

Zevran grabbed Taliesen by the wrist. He was contorted uncomfortably at the waist and forced to breathe through his nose. All he could smell was sweat and dirt. Taliesen was unrelenting, but terror had just about turned his body to stone. They were together paralyzed with fear. It was worse because the killer they both knew was out there had said nothing.

“Master Axera,” Sarra repeated, and her voice thinned out as she started to beg. Zevran could almost picture her features screwing up with tears, her face turning red, tears dripping off her chin. “Please, don’t. Please. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be a Crow anymore. Just take me home to the alienage. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

It was agony as they waited and listened. Zevran felt like he was both on the verge of tears and about to start screaming into the evening. It swelled up his throat until he thought he was going to burst if he didn’t start screaming. Somehow he kept quiet. He felt the dagger pressed against his sternum, flat on the ground, completely useless in the hands of a child. Taliesen was completely unmoving on top of him, except for shallow breathing against his ear.

After a very long time, during which they heard only the restless noises of the swamp, they realized that Master Axera had already killed Sarra and moved on.

***

A long while later, when one of them was feeling brave enough to speak, Taliesen said, “We have to kill her.”

Zevran tried to stare at him in the darkness, but he was only aware of a faint outline about an arm’s length away from him. He’d curled up on his side and stared at the ground. He cried when they both realized that Sarra was dead, but he’d fought to keep it silent. Now he was wrung out and exhausted. “We can’t _kill_ her,” he whispered. “She outranks us. We’ll get in trouble.”

Taliesen huffed in the darkness. “You didn’t even notice, did you? She’s been letting us hear her. After—after Sarra, she just…left. She didn’t realize we were here. She was just gone. Like a ghost. That’s how quiet she can be. She’s playing with us. And she’s going to keep doing it until sunrise.”

“Why can’t we just stay here all night?”

“Because eventually she’ll come looking for us.” Taliesen fell quiet, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft and dark. “If we kill her, then we don’t have to worry about her finding us.”

Zevran stared into the shadows for a long time, chewing on a strand of his hair. Master assassins were supposed to be _good_. Better than good. He doubted that a couple of children could kill someone of her rank, and he worried again that they would get in trouble. If they lived to get in trouble. But he was also so tired that it was becoming difficult to think clearly. “We’d need to find her first,” he pointed out, hoping Taliesen would agree and drop it. “Where could she be?”

“Evescha, Joia, and Sarra are all dead,” Taliesen listed off, ignoring the holes he was pointing out. “So she’ll be either hunting us or…Vellito. And right now, it’s probably Vellito. If we find him, then we’ll find her.”

“And then what?”

“We kill her.”

***

Zevran followed Taliesen through the swamp. It was quieter in the middle of the night but not entirely silent. And the humidity dissipated, leaving him feeling even colder than before. He wrapped one arm around his chest and clutched the dagger with the opposite hand. The blade was as long as his upper arm, huge and unwieldy in his hand. He didn’t care. It made him feel better to hold it. Every shadow might be hiding _her_ , every tree branch might be holding _her_. He wished he had more eyes to look around with as they trudged through the muck.

Taliesen hacked his way in one direction for a long time, then stopped and looked around, and veered off into another direction. Zevran tried to map their route back to their hiding spot in his head, but he was lost almost immediately. His legs were almost numb as he stumbled after him. They walked until they returned to where they’d first pulled off their blindfolds, then continued through the clearing and into the wilderness on the other side.

Zevran was lost to his unkind thoughts about the swamp. It was less tolerable at night than it was in the day. Quieter, but colder. One glimpse of moonslight revealed a snake coiled on the trunk of a tree, so perfectly still it might have been mistaken for a vine. He gave the snake a wide berth as he followed Taliesen, who either didn’t notice or didn’t care. They had walked for some time, and were rapidly approaching a river, when he suddenly heard the muffled sound of someone sniffling. “Over there,” he whispered, pointing the dagger towards the noise.

Taliesen crept with him down to the riverbank, where they spied Vellito hiding beneath a tree. He hadn’t appeared to notice them. His shelter was an enormous tree that teetered dangerously on the edge of a riverbank, with long branches held above the river. Large roots jutted out of the ground and dug deeper into the bank. Zevran eyed the river with interest, desperate to clean himself up, but Taliesen grabbed him by the shoulder. His eyes were on the tree they were hiding behind.

“Do you know how to climb trees?” Taliesen whispered.

“No,” Zevran answered. It was a dumb question. “Why would I?”

“Of course not.” Taliesen rolled his eyes. “Go to Vellito. Don’t tell him I’m here.”

“What?”

“Just do it. Pretend you just found him.” Taliesen didn’t even wait for an answer before he seized a knot with both hands and hoisted himself onto the trunk. He dug his boots into the bark and scaled up the tree until he could reach one of the higher branches, then swung himself onto the branch. “Go!” he hissed, waving an arm at him, dismissing him.

Zevran rolled his eyes and left the tree. He clutched the dagger with one hand while he held his chest, desperate to get away from the cold. Somehow being nearer to the river made him feel even colder than before. Maybe it was a good thing that it was too dangerous for him to wash up. He followed the steep incline down to the riverbank. “Vellito?” he whispered.

Vellito’s silhouette was immediately upright. “Who’s there?” he almost whimpered, sounding frightened. “Go away. Leave me alone.”

Zevran reached the tree and laid one hand on the root, ducking his head underneath. “It’s just me,” he whispered, gesturing to himself with his free hand.

“You’re still alive?” Vellito almost sounded relieved, then caught himself and turned it into a sneer. “I thought she would’ve killed all you knife-ears first.”

“Don’t call me a knife-ear,” Zevran shot back as he ducked under the roots. He was too tired and his legs were too sore to bother waiting for an invitation.

“What are you doing?” Vellito stared at him without moving. He sat in the center of his makeshift shelter, taking a considerable amount of space for himself. His legs were pulled to his chest and his arms were wrapped around his legs. He straightened upright only to shoot Zevran a terrified look that was visible even in the deep shadows. “I don’t want you here. She might’ve followed you. Go away.”

Zevran plopped down on the hard ground. It was dry underneath the exposed roots, and the shelter guarded them from the wind. Not warmer, but less cold. He shivered and set the dagger on the ground beside him. “She’s nowhere near here,” he lied. It was surprisingly easy to lie, but he’d always found it easy to lie.

Once the girls at the whorehouse had taught him part of the Chant. _All things are known to our Maker and He shall judge their lies._ That was about all that he could remember. But if he lied and the Maker didn’t strike him down with lightning, then maybe He didn’t mind.

“Or do you want me to leave you all alone here?” Zevran added thoughtfully, picking up the dagger and holding the blade between his hands. “I can find somewhere else to hide.”

“Fine. You can stay.” Vellito seemed to have second thoughts. “You haven’t seen her anywhere, have you?”

“No.” Zevran paused. He could be a little honest. “But I found Joia. And she killed Sarra, too.”

“What about El Catástrofe? Have you seen him?”

“I haven’t seen him. And he hates that nickname, you know.”

“He’s probably dead. I bet she killed him first. Who cares if he hates it?”

“Why do you hate him so much?”

“Because he doesn’t belong in the Crows,” Vellito snarled. He glowered at Zevran, a glare that could be felt more than it could be seen. “None of you do. The Crows are legendary. They shouldn’t be bringing in a bunch of knife-ears and castoffs.”

Zevran pointed at him with the dagger, glaring at him. “I _said_ don’t call me a knife-ear.”

Vellito eyed the blade. It was hard to tell if he looked nervous. “What are you going to do about it? Are you going to kill me?”

Zevran thought about Taliesen watching over them from his hiding spot. “No, I’m not,” he muttered. “But we aren’t knife-ears.”

Vellito snorted. “Yeah. You are.”

Zevran fell silent. There was no point in arguing with someone as thick as Vellito. He fidgeted with the dagger, running his fingers over the point of the blade, pressing his fingers as close as he could get to the edge without cutting himself. His hair hung in dirty strings, like straw, around his face. The dirt and muck on the front of his clothes had dried out and was flaking off. He stared out of their shelter at the thin river flowing downstream. There was a smattering of silver light on the water. Moonslight or starlight. He wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. He wished he could at least wash his hands.

Behind him, Vellito yawned and retreated deeper into the shallow shelter. He leaned his back against the trunk. “I’m tired,” he grumbled. “I’m going to sleep. You take first watch.” An order, not a suggestion.

“Sure,” Zevran muttered, rolling his eyes, but Vellito wasn’t listening. He curled up against the trunk and wrapped his arms around himself and was asleep almost immediately. Zevran soon started hearing his soft snores. He leaned against one of the exposed roots and examined the dagger in the sliver of light available to him. It was too long and too heavy, meant for a man and not a boy. He wondered if Master Ordoño would let him keep it. He wondered if Taliesen was still awake, hidden on that branch.

***

A twig snapped.

Zevran bolted upright and realized that he’d nodded off. His spine stiffened with fear, his ears straining for sound. Panic gripped his chest. He heard nothing else, but he took no chances, crawling on his hands and knees over to Vellito. “Vellito,” he whispered, his voice trembling. He seized the boy by the shoulders and shook him. “Vellito, someone’s here.”

“What?” Vellito awoke with a start, then shoved him back. He wiped his hands irritably on the dirt staining his sleeve. “Don’t touch me. You’re filthy.”

“Shut up!” Zevran hissed. “There’s someone _here_.”

“What?” Vellito squawked, his voice cracking. He suddenly looked terrified. His fear was palpable even in the darkness. “A-are you sure?”

“I can’t hear anything now, but I heard something a second ago.”

“You _have_ to be sure. Go out and look.”

“I’m not doing that!”

“Do you want to die? Because if she finds us, we’re both dead.”

Zevran stared down at him in disbelief, the word _coward_ burning hot on the edge of his tongue, when he suddenly realized that Vellito no longer had his dagger. He looked all around the shelter and couldn’t find it anywhere. Had he dropped it as he fled? Or did he lose it at some other point? It didn’t matter. Zevran was the only one who was still armed. It had to be him. His fingers tightened around the handle of his dagger. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Stay here and _stay quiet_. I’m warning you. If you make even a single sound—”

“Shut up and go!” Vellito snarled and shoved him out into the open, then retreated into the shadows.

Zevran scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering against his chest. His hands were stinging again, scrapes on top of scrapes. A prickly feeling crawled up his spine. Like he was being watched. He turned around in every direction, finding nothing, then crept up the riverbank.

It was awful to be stranded out in the open. Zevran hunted through the trees without making a sound. He could never quite shake the feeling that someone was watching him. Someone unseen. It made him feel small and defenseless, no matter how closely he held the dagger. He found no one behind him, or in the shadows, or hiding in the bushes. Zevran told himself that his mind was playing tricks on him.

There was no one nearby.

Zevran was ready to convince himself that he was just a little jumpy. He wasn’t sure how long he was out there, but it was long enough that he was chilled all the way to the bone. Zevran clutched the dagger tightly as he returned to the tree. He was exhausted, and beneath the numb flesh of his legs, his muscles were screaming in agony. It wasn’t fair that the night went on forever. Shouldn’t the sun be coming up soon?

“Vellito,” Zevran whispered as he approached their shelter. He snuck down to the riverbank, his boots sinking into the soft, wet mud. “Vellito, I haven’t found—”

Master Axera emerged from beneath the roots.

Zevran went still at the sight of her, and his mind went white with shock. She had always looked so short compared to the other masters, but standing in front of him, she was a dark pillar that could touch the sky. Silvery light glinted off the gilding of her half-mask. Her dagger shone red as she raised it.

“Master,” Zevran breathed. His voice hitched with fear. “You—you can’t kill me!”

Axera lowered the dagger and fell back a step. Not out of fear, but to study him with interest. He could almost see the light shining on her eyes from behind her mask. He’d seen that look in other adults before when he was _charming_ enough. That was what the madame called him on her better days. Charming. Her head cocked to the side, as if to invite him to keep speaking.

Zevran already knew there was no point in begging for his life. She killed Sarra while _she_ was begging for her life. So he went with a different approach. “I was compradi,” he said in a rush. He wanted badly to look behind for Vellito or Taliesen, but he wouldn’t dare drag his eyes away from her face. She might kill him when he wasn’t looking. “Grandmaster Talav paid a lot of andris for me. You’d spoil his investment. And the Crows hate wasting coin, don’t they?”

Axera _laughed_. It wasn’t loud, but soft and amused.

Zevran had her attention. He’d made her laugh. That counted for something. “Do you know why he did that?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for a response. “It’s because when he came to the whorehouse, I stole his dagger. You know the one. The sharp and pointy one. He calls it a talon but it doesn’t look like a talon to me.”

Axera tossed her dagger and caught it again by the handle. She smiled wide enough to show teeth.

Zevran pretended he wasn’t afraid as he eyed the blade, still wet with blood. “I bet I could steal yours. I can steal anything,” he continued. “If I steal your dagger before sunup, then you have to let me live. But if I don’t, then I’ll let you kill me.”

“Hmm.” Axera reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, and he knew immediately that his gambit had failed. Her fingers dug into his shoulder like a vise. She flipped the dagger in her hand, so that she held the blade in front of her, rather than behind her, as she’d thrown it earlier. His resolve failed. “Clever,” she said, breaking her long silence. “But that’s not how this works.”

His composure broke down at the last possible second. She was going to kill him, stab him in the gut, and it was going to hurt. His features crumpled in tears. Axera drew back her arm and stepped forward with the opposite leg, preparing to stab him. But something else happened first. Her body jerked—not forward, but to the side, and he saw her eyes widen behind her crow’s mask. She twisted around to look behind her.

Taliesen ripped the dagger out of her side, looking murderous. Zevran could have cried with relief—he was already on the verge of tears. Taliesen circled around her, the dagger still raised, and placed himself between Axera and Zevran.

“What?” Axera stared at him in disbelief as her free hand went to the fresh wound in her side. She staggered a few steps closer to the tree and slumped down into the soft earth. “You little shit,” she swore, ripping a throwing dagger out of her boot and hurling it at them. Both of them scattered, but it didn’t matter. The dagger went sailing over the river, missing both of them entirely.

Taliesen reacted with a shout, seizing his dagger like a sword. He charged her and brought it up over his head, holding it with both hands, and thrust it down into her body with every ounce of his strength. The blade sunk through her throat with a sickening crunching noise, causing her body to convulse. Axera made an odd, gurgling noise, her body twitching. She tried to rise but her head was pinned to the ground. Her hands scratched at her throat. Blood poured out of the wound and made her leathers shine oddly in the darkness.

Zevran watched in horror as Taliesen backed away, holding one arm out.

“Just stay down,” Taliesen whispered in a voice that was both furious and desperate. “Just stay down. Don’t get up.”

Zevran thought death happened swiftly, but it took several agonizing minutes for the struggle to leak out of Axera. She choked on nothing, and in all of her blind clawing, she never seemed to find the handle of the dagger. Eventually her body ceased moving. They watched her for a while longer before daring to check her if she was dead. It was Zevran who approached, low to the ground, and bent his ear over her mouth. He’d seen one of the girls at the whorehouse do this to a patron who drank too much. She wasn’t breathing.

“Dead?” Taliesen asked. His voice quivered, touched with hope.

“Dead,” Zevran agreed, nodding, as he straightened upright.

Taliesen stared down at the corpse and sniffed. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. “We had to,” he mumbled, but it was unclear if he was talking to Zevran or himself. His dark eyes lingered on the body.

Zevran swallowed. “I think she killed Vellito,” he said. “And she was going to kill me.”

Taliesen briefly looked at the deep shadows underneath the tree. “She did,” he said solemnly. “We’re the only ones who made it.”

“What do we do now?”

“We wait until sunrise.”

“What if Master Ordoño can’t find us?”

“He will. Come on. We’ll freeze if we stay out here.”

***

**9:12 Dragon, 20 August**

I am writing to inform you of an unexpected development during the trial we discussed last week. Master Axera is dead. We are not entirely certain of the events leading up to her death, but we know the boys responsible for her murder: Zevran and Taliesen.

This is unprecedented. No recruit has ever survived this particular trial by murdering the master assassin sent to hunt them, and yet these two boys accomplished the impossible. We found them in the morning, the only survivors of the six we sent into the swamps, huddled underneath a tree near a river. Two bodies, one belonging to Master Axera and another to a failed recruit, were laid out on the ground and covered in a blanket of local flora. Only Zevran spoke. Once. He asked, “Are we in trouble?” Neither has said a word since. It is easy to forget that they are only children and worry as children do.

If Master Axera can be killed by two boys, then House Arainai has not suffered a loss. Despite clear orders to the contrary, word has already spread about her humiliating death. I’ve set a punishment of fifteen lashes for anyone caught repeating the story. Her death at the hands of a couple of children reflect poorly on the house.

Master Axera’s remains have been sent to the Chantry for cremation. I believe we should discuss a new strategy for Taliesen and Zevran. Together they show a promise they lack individually. I’m eager to hear your thoughts on the matter.

Master Ordoño Arainai

— _a letter addressed to Grandmaster Talav, written in Crows’ cant_


	2. The House of Crows, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seinabo Sey, "Who"
> 
> _What have you done to deserve that  
>  You can’t change a thing  
> The sooner that you learn that  
> Is better for all of us_
> 
> **Content warning for child abuse.**

Light flooded the cell as the door opened.

Zevran winced at the shock to his sensitive eyes. The boy pushed himself upright on his cot and swung his legs over the side. He gripped the wooden frame with both hands, blond hair hanging down around his shoulders, and fixed a point on the wall near the door with his eyes. A dark silhouette cut through the light as she strode into the room: an imposing human woman in black leathers. He felt, rather than saw, her pale green eyes glaring at him.

“What did you do?”

Zevran squared his shoulders and glared at the wall. “Nothing.”

Master Vinca eyed him with a look of pure disbelief, but she turned around on her heel and strode out without so much as an “adiós.” The door swung shut behind her, pushed closed by an unseen hand, and shut out the light in the cell. He was thrown into darkness.

***

Zevran discovered quickly that there was nothing to do in his cell except wait for Master Vinca to return. He lost track of time not long after they’d thrown him in here. It was a small cell that might’ve been just large enough for an adult to lay down on the floor with their head touching one wall and their feet touching the other. All he had was a cot and a chamberpot, and its presence without an accompanying basin made him slightly worried.

The boy wandered the perimeter of the cell, counting the steps from one corner to another. He dared to linger near the door and see if he could spot anything through the cracks, but there weren’t really any cracks to see through. His forearm itched where a long, shallow cut split his brown skin. It had stopped bleeding a while ago, already itching as it slowly healed.

Eventually, he returned to the cot and waited.

***

Master Vinca arrived a few minutes or a few hours later. Her arrival was thrown into sharp relief by the light flooding in around her silhouette. It was nearly blinding, and he bitterly suspected that she was doing this on purpose. She stepped into the cell and lingered there with the door open. He knew there were others out in the hall, but she looked alone.

“What did you do?”

Zevran scowled at her, then decided to switch tactics. His frustration had earned him nothing. “Maestra, I don’t understand.” He let his desperation to get out of this cell color his voice. “Why am I here? How long have I been in here?”

“You’re here until you answer the question. What did you do?”

“Nothing,” he pleaded. “You believe me, don’t you?”

Master Vinca didn’t answer. She turned and left, and the door shut behind her.

***

Zevran flopped down on the cot and stared up at the ceiling. His stomach growled and his bladder was uncomfortably full. He didn’t like the idea of using the chamber pot. Something about it made his imprisonment _too real_. He stared up at the black darkness where he knew the ceiling was but couldn’t see it. It was hard to tell how long he laid there before he fell asleep.

***

It was the sound of the door opening that wrenched him out of his sleep.

Master Vinca took a step into the room and let the light fill in around her. She seemed perfectly content to do this however many times she needed, and he was growing annoyed with her refusal to do anything but repeat the same question over and over again: “What did you do?”

Zevran ignored the question. He ran a hand through his hair, untangling the knots that had worked their way in while he was asleep. “How much longer until supper?” His stomach growled again. He thought it should be soon.

“A few more hours,” Master Vinca responded.

“What?” Zevran was jolted out of his misery. “But I haven’t—”

“It’s only been an hour.”

Zevran stared at her in disbelief. His instincts warned him that she was lying. It had to be longer than an hour. He was starving and he’d slept. She’d come back three times in an hour just to ask the same question over and over again? But doubt nagged at the edge of his thoughts. Maybe she was right. Maybe it _hadn’t_ been that long, and he was just weak.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Zevran snapped. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, fighting back tears of frustration. “I don’t understand why I have to be here. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That’s not true, is it?”

The boy looked at her at the sound of her tone. It was softer than before. He stared at her silhouette, her features obscured by the light filling in around her gaps, and imagined that she looked at him with sympathy. Maybe he was just hoping she was feeling sympathetic. He considered telling the truth, but he shoved that feeling back down. “I didn’t do anything,” he reiterated and placed his chin on his knees, staring down at the floor.

Master Vinca walked out without a response.

***

Zevran laid on the cot on his side, his uninjured arm tucked underneath his head. He stared into the black where he knew the walls were. Doubt flooded his mind. Maybe he should’ve just told her the truth, but then what? Would he be punished? Would his punishment be worse because he wasn’t honest in the beginning? What would she do to him?

He tried to sleep again, but this time sleep eluded him. He laid there in the dark, awake and spiraling in his thoughts, until Master Vinca returned.

***

Master Vinca didn’t ask the question when she stepped into his cell. She crossed its length in three long strides and crouched down beside his cot, handing him a waterskin. “Here,” she offered in a quiet, gentle tone. “You must be thirsty.”

Zevran seized the waterskin and pushed himself upright. His mouth and throat were uncomfortably dry, and despite saliva flooding his mouth at the thought of delicious, crisp water, he eyed the waterskin suspiciously. “Is it poisoned?”

Master Vinca laughed, light and amused. “Why would I poison you, conejito?”

Zevran flushed with embarrassment. He didn’t answer, just raised the waterskin to his lips and drained it of every last drop. There were only three or four swallows of cold water, somehow the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, and he was still thirsty when it was empty. He handed it back and wiped his mouth. “Can I leave, Maestra?”

“No.” Master Vinca smiled at him sympathetically as she took back the waterskin. “Not until you answer the question.”

Zevran stared down at his legs as she left the cell, closing him in the darkness. His doubt grew at the back of his mind, mouth aching for more water. He licked his lips and wished the waterskin had been fuller.

***

No one had ever told Zevran that being locked in a cell could be _exhausting_. He slept until his bladder woke him, then he relented and used the chamberpot. It felt like defeat. An acceptance that he was going to be locked in this cell long enough to need it.

Zevran returned to the cot and laid down. It was hard to tell whether or not he was asleep. Sometimes he realized that his mind was drifting far away from his body, but he was still awake, staring, unfocused, into the dark. Other times he realized he’d drifted off only when a noise outside his cell startled him awake. He never felt rested. It was uncomfortable and cold, and the minutes stretched on.

His stomach no longer growled but _ached_. He felt hollowed out and empty.

If he was aware of the passing of time, he would’ve counted the minutes until Master Vinca returned with supper. It felt like it should’ve happened a long time ago, but thinking about food only made the ache in his stomach worse. He curled around himself and emptied his mind, but when he slept, he dreamed that he was in the mess hall with Taliesen and Rinna. And when he awoke, he found himself back in the cell, and the disappointment made him want to cry.

***

Master Vinca arrived empty-handed. Zevran had been awake for some time, but he curled tighter around himself when the light came flooding into his cell. He removed his uninjured arm from underneath his head as he pulled himself upright, tired eyes finding her silhouette at the threshold. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep.

“How much longer until supper?” Zevran mumbled as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “I’m hungry, Maestra.”

“Less than an hour,” Master Vinca answered as she entered his cell. She approached his cell and crouched down on the floor again. Her green eyes were even with his amber ones. “But I’ve been told to withhold your meals until you answer the question, conejito.”

“What? But—”

“I know. It isn’t fair.”

Zevran felt his features start to crumple with unshed tears. He bit the inside of his cheek and forced down the hot salt rising in his throat. His exhausted mind was tired of fighting the emotion that swelled up inside of him, but he was also too tired to let himself feel it. It was all beyond him. “Will they let me starve in here?”

Master Vinca shook her head. “Not if you tell the truth.”

Zevran hunched down on the edge of the cot, his spine curved, shoulders slumped. He felt defeated and worn out. “I don’t know how to explain it, Maestra.”

“What did you do?” Master Vinca asked again, this time in a soft tone that promised understanding. “Master Ordoño paired the recruits for their trial, in a duel to first blood.”

“Master Ordoño said that I let Rinna win on purpose.” Zevran scowled, letting his frustration come through. He squeezed his hands together between his knees. “It wasn’t that. I didn’t let her win on purpose. Honest.”

“Is that true?”

“¡Sí! I’m not a liar, Maestra!”

“I believe you, conejito,” Master Vinca said, and it seemed to him that she really meant it. “Tell me what happened.”

Zevran huffed and slouched down even more. He fiddled with his thumbs and stared down at the floor. “Rinna was…I didn’t know how…” He trailed off as his tired brain tried to form a coherent explanation. “It wasn’t on _purpose_. Master Ordoño has never paired me with a…a girl…before…” His words fell quiet as embarrassment crept into his voice. He peeked at her through his hair for her reaction.

Master Vinca let the corner of her mouth rise in an amused smile. “You were distracted by your first duel with a girl, then?”

“ _No_.”

“Tell the truth.”

“…Maybe. A little. But it wasn’t on purpose. You believe me, don’t you?”

Master Vinca sighed and rose to her feet. She was a tall woman, and she seemed even taller as she towered over him. “Master Ordoño was concerned that you threw the duel on purpose to permit her victory. Such behavior is unbecoming of a little Crow.”

Zevran was silent. He’d heard enough lectures.

“Why not just tell us the truth? All of this—” She gestured to the small cell, and the mere act of holding out her arm seemed to fill up a lot of the space. “—This could have been avoided if you were simply honest in the beginning.”

“It’s _embarrassing_ ,” Zevran muttered under his breath. “Can I leave now?”

“Ah, well,” Master Vinca began, and his hopes immediately sunk. “There is a punishment for lying to Master Ordoño. Ten lashes. Then you will be returned to the recruits’ quarters. Someone will bring you supper.”

Zevran eyed her suspiciously. “But then it’s over? I don’t have to be in this cell anymore?”

Master Vinca nodded. “But then it’s over. You’re a free man, conejito.”

***

Zevran awoke some time later in his bed. He had been left on his stomach, his hair falling over his face and covering his nose, with the blankets brought up to his waist. His eyes were almost glued shut with dried, sticky tears. Someone was seated on the edge of the narrow bed, applying something to his wounds that made his skin tingle. His back was an angry, pulsing mass of wounded flesh, and it was the pain, not the gentle application of the soothing balm, that dragged him out of sleep.

It was only once his visitor rose to leave that he recognized Master Ordoño. He didn’t appear to notice that Zevran was conscious again, and Zevran quietly watched him leave without making a noise.

The smell of old blood and rotten flesh filled the recruits’ quarters. Some of it came from outside, but the smell of blood came from him. It nearly overpowered the faint scent of elfroot and spindleweed. He knew there was something else in the mixture, something that made the scars heal without a trace. Something that made his skin tingle in a way that elfroot and spindleweed could not.

Zevran managed to scrub the sleep from his eyes, but even the slightest movement made the throbbing in his back worse. It pulled awkwardly at his skin. The wounds were healing over, becoming inflexible scabs, trapped under thick bandages. He’d gone through this before. He pressed his face into his pillow and tried to let his mind drift away. Every violent throb brought him right back to his wounds. He imagined his back looked like poorly butchered meat, but he’d seen enough whippings to know he was covered in ten neat cuts of varying lengths. But it ached as one injury, swollen and hot.

The door opened again and a curious head peered through the crack. “Zev,” Taliesen breathed as he pushed his way into the otherwise empty room. He left the door open as he rushed over to the bed and crouched on the floor. “Maker’s breath, what did they do to you?”

Zevran turned his face enough to look at him. He noticed, behind him, a stricken, dark face appear behind the open door. “I’m fine, Tali,” he insisted weakly.

“You’re not fine, you’re half-dead,” Taliesen shot back. He looked at Zevran as if he wanted to do something with him but couldn’t, so he sat on his heels and crossed his forearms on the edge of the wooden frame. “We were all worried it would be worse. You’ve been gone for a day.”

“…What? A day?” Zevran frowned. It was hard to think. He was in too much pain. “That can’t be right.”

“No one’s seen you since yesterday morning,” Rinna said as she slipped into the room. She quietly shut the door behind her before she joined Taliesen at the side of the cot. There she remained on her feet, trying to look frustrated but only looking worried. “You shouldn’t have thrown the duel.”

Zevran managed, through his pain, to crack a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled, pleased with himself but too exhausted to properly hide it. “Are you alright, Rinna?”

“Master Ordoño let me go with a warning,” Rinna responded with a scowl. “‘A Crow should know when their opponent is underperforming on purpose.’ Next time it’s ten lashes. But there’s not going to be a next time, is there? Because I’m going to beat you fair and square.”

“The Crows don’t _do_ fair and square,” Taliesen said pointedly.

“Nonsense.” Zevran waved an exhausted hand at him. His voice was slightly muffled by his face pressed against the pillow. “If that’s what she wants, then I aim to please.” He tried to laugh but it dissolved into a pained groan as his lashings throbbed. If he thought about it too much, the pain threatened to overwhelm him.

“We’ll leave you to get some rest,” Taliesen offered, pushing himself to his feet. “Sleep well, Zev.”

“Mm-hm.” Zevran turned his face to the pillow and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, and he meant to respond, to tell them not to worry about him, but he fell asleep first.

***

**9:16 Dragon, 29 Guardian**

I appreciate the confirmation about the training of the recruits. It has never been in our interest to divide training based on sex, and it’s good to know that, on this matter, we are still in agreement.

When you have a moment, I would like to discuss a specific matter in more detail with you. It is relevant to my inquiry and deals with one of your recruits. I think you would be interested to know his skill as shown to me. He spent a solid day in our dungeon and talked his way out without revealing the truth. These skills are quite useful to the Crows. A boy of his talents will become quite potent as a man.

I’m aware that you have other reservations regarding this recruit and the sympathy he’s shown the other children. We’ll discuss it more tomorrow. Bring the wine that I like.

Master Vinca Arainai

— _a letter addressed to Master Ordoño Arainai, written in Crows’ cant_


	3. The House of Crows, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scarling., "Stapled to the Mattress"
> 
> _You're a person who I can't help but notice -  
>  Enjoys drowning into others' self disdain  
> Void of person - No, I don't think I know you  
> Please hunt others  
> Vultures hover  
> You're stapled to your mattress_
> 
> **Content warning for child abuse.**

Antiva City changed during Satinalia. Music spilled out into the streets and white banners went up over the alleyways. Candles burned in every window, the little flames glowing like fireflies. Faces were hidden behind masks, mayors replaced by fools, and gifts exchanged hands over long tables overflowing with food. It _smelled_ like food. Roast pork and smoked fish and scallops in white wine and baked bread.

“How are you _still_ hungry?” Taliesen asked.

“And you’re not?” Zevran pulled his eyes away from a house rich with the aroma of roasted meat perfumed with garlic and onions. His mouth watered at the thought of it, despite the fullness of his stomach. He pushed a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. “Being out here makes me want to eat more.”

Taliesen snorted. “After everything we’ve eaten tonight, I think I’m ready to sleep for the next four years.”

House Arainai received Satinalia with a celebration for the made assassins and a feast for the recruits. There were no masks or white banners or gifts, but there was a banquet laid out on a table in the common area of the recruits’ apartment building. One of the older recruits thought it was because of the new grandmaster. It was hard to tell if she was grateful that she’d escaped the hangman’s noose or just wanted to make a good impression. Zevran didn’t care. He ate until he was sick, then stole a slice of seed cake at the end of the meal.

Master Ordoño, one of the few master assassins still alive, intercepted the four of them before they returned to their room. He’d grabbed their cloaks for them and sent them out of the leatherworking district for an errand. Something hidden at the base of one of the gilded statues in the Golden Plaza.

An hour had passed since the meal, and Zevran couldn’t shake how tired he still felt. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into his cot and sleep through the rest of the night. Even the stinging cold of the early winter was not enough to fully rouse him. His three companions looked just as exhausted, although Rinna had wrapped herself up so tightly in her cloak that he could barely see her face.

“What do you th-think is there that’s so important?” Rinna asked through chattering teeth. She looked miserable, her nose and cheeks stung red by the chill.

“Probably something for his mistress,” Hillel responded dryly. He was another elven recruit, two years older, lean and wiry with copper curls that reached his shoulders.

“Master Ordoño doesn’t have a mistress,” Rinna shot back hotly.

“Of course he does.” Hillel shrugged. “They all do, you know.”

Rinna glared at him, but he didn’t look at her and neither did he appear to care.

Zevran thought about the late Grandmaster Talav coming to the whorehouse where he’d grown up. He’d seen him there once or twice before, but the madame knew him by name. Some patrons had favorites, but he couldn’t remember if Talav did. It didn’t matter anymore. Talav was caught trying to assassinate the First Talon, and now he and his inner circle were all dead. Executed by the house they’d failed to behead. Talav had no need for favorites where he’d ended up.

“Here we are,” Taliesen announced as they strode into the Golden Plaza. Its namesake was derived from the towering gilded statues that lined both sides of the white-tiled street. White banners had been strung around them and candles and incense had been laid at their feet. There were still a few masked revelers wandering around despite the hour.

Rinna trudged after him, shivering violently under her cloak. “Second one on the right. Let’s make this quick and get back home.”

Zevran followed them to the gilded statue but hung back as they searched the base for a hidden compartment. His gaze strayed to the towering statues rising around him. He recognized some of them from the stained glass windows in the chantry. The crowned woman in armor was Andraste. But the other figures in various states of grief were harder to identify. He was certain the man in robes with one hand on the pommel of his sword was Archon Hessarian.

There was one in particular that caught his eye. It was a slender statue of a man directly across from the statue of Andraste. His ears were oddly rounded, almost chipped, and he wore armor that he’d never seen before.

“Do you know who that is?” Hillel asked, making Zevran jump. He hadn’t even heard him approach. “That’s Shartan.”

Zevran ran his fingers through his hair, embarrassed to be caught off-guard. “Who is Shartan?”

“Shartan was Andraste’s champion,” Hillel explained. “He was a slave from Tevinter who fought beside her against his former masters. Looks like someone chipped off his ears, though. He was an elf. Like us.”

Zevran examined the statue with newfound interest. “I didn’t know an elf fought with Andraste.”

“There was a sister that would always come to the alienage and teach us stuff. Letters and history and things like that. She was the one who told me about Shartan, but they don’t teach about him in the chantry anymore. It’s forbidden. I don’t know why.”

Zevran was surprised that no one bothered to come out and fix the statue’s ears. He thought it looked too worn to be recent, but the rest of the plaza was in pristine condition. Even without his ears, the statue didn’t resemble any elf he’d ever seen. He was taller and prouder. Almost like a nobleman, but dressed for war. “Maybe he did something bad,” he guessed. “Maybe he killed someone.”

“I don’t think so. There’s a lot of killing in the Chant.”

Zevran shivered and wrapped his arms around his chest underneath his cloak. It was harder to ignore the brisk chill now that they were no longer moving. He twisted at the waist to look at Taliesen and Rinna over his shoulder. “How much longer is this going to take?”

Hillel leaned over and pulled part of his cloak around his shoulders, drawing him closer to his side. He ducked his head down as he smiled, his curls spilling around his face. “How’s that?”

Zevran blushed and stared at his feet. “Better, gracias.”

“There it is,” Taliesen hissed from the other side of the street. He had climbed onto the base of the statue and pulled something out from behind its armored legs. Rinna stood expectantly below him, shivering in her cloak. He slid down, throwing a glance to the revelers on the other end of the plaza, and brandished a scroll sealed with wax.

Zevran pulled away from Hillel for a closer look. He was immediately sorry for the distance; it was a lot colder without the other boy pressed against him. “What is it?” he asked.

Taliesen broke the seal and unraveled the scroll as the recruits gathered around him, eager for a look. “Shit,” he swore under his breath. “It’s Crows’ cant. _Your trial is to find the antidote_.”

Rinna stiffened with alarm. “Antidote? _What_ antidote? For what?”

“Poison, probably,” Hillel offered.

“You’re not helping,” Rinna retorted with a glare. “What else does it say, Taliesen?”

“We’re looking for someone wearing a mask with red feathers. And we’re forbidden from leaving the Golden Plaza.” Taliesen explained everything in a hushed voice strained with annoyance. He crumpled the scroll between his hands. “And to burn after reading, of course.”

“So what do we do?” Zevran asked nervously. The adrenaline shooting through his veins was almost enough to drag him out of his fatigue. He searched through his memories for when they could’ve possibly been poisoned and came up with nothing.

It was Rinna who spoke first: “They’ve given us everything that we need. Our territory is the Golden Plaza, our target is wearing red feathers. The first thing we need to do is do a sweep of the plaza for anyone matching that description. And then…” She trailed off and bit her lower lip, brows drawing together in concern. “And then we figure out what to do after.”

***

Antiva City was rarely quiet, but tonight most everyone was indoors, drinking and eating and singing. It was well past dark and only a token presence of the guard and a handful of revelers were still out. No one wore red feathers. Zevran bunched his cloak in his fists and wrapped it tighter around himself as he wandered from one end of the plaza to the other. Two revelers were bare-faced, and a third wore a white mask set with gold filigree.

Zevran looped around back to the statue where they’d originally found the note. He felt the eyes of the guard on his back as he wandered back, keenly aware that the thin traffic also meant he stood out. It wasn’t often that the guard bothered to notice him, but tonight he was more visible. And the cold made it harder to move quietly. His teeth chattered when he unclenched his jaw and the tips of his ears were growing colder by the moment. He wondered if it was possible to freeze to death out on the streets. Probably.

Rinna returned not long afterward, looking every bit as miserable as he felt. “No luck?” she asked without expecting an answer. “None for me, either.”

“So what do we d-do?” Zevran muttered as a particularly violent tremor shook through his body. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself. “If no one is here, are we supposed to just st-stand here and wait?”

“Probably not out in the open.” Rinna looked around the plaza. “We’ll have t-to hide and hope our target shows up before we freeze to death.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Cold. Tired. You?”

“Same.”

Rinna rubbed the outsides of her arms and danced a little on the spot. Every breath she sucked in shook as she inhaled. The deep crimson flush across her features was visible even in the dim light of the plaza. “I don’t _feel_ like I was poisoned,” she admitted. “Do you have any idea how long it would take to kill us?”

Zevran shook his head. The tips of his ears stung with the cold. “N-no. Not unless I knew what it was.”

“Can you figure it out? You’re better than the rest of us with poisons.”

Zevran shivered and pulled the cloak up to his mouth, cloth bunched in his fists. He breathed on his fingers, raw and pink. “Maybe, but only if I know the symptoms. S-some of them are designed to work quickly, but others can take a full day or longer. Master Ordoño would give us enough time to finish the trial, at least.”

“What sort of symptoms should we look out for?”

“I don’t know. Anything weird, I guess.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“It’s all I know.”

“Sorry.” Rinna rubbed her arms and looked around for signs of the rest of their group. “Looks like everyone else is taking their sweet time in getting back.” She eyed him curiously. “You seem friendly with Hillel. I don’t see how you can _stand_ him.”

Zevran blushed. He let his gaze fall to the white tiles under their feet, warmth flooding his face. “He’s alright,” he mumbled, his lips curling up in an involuntary smile.

Rinna rolled her eyes. “He’s a jerk.”

Zevran noticed two cloaked figures appear at the far end of the plaza. “It looks like they’re coming back,” he said, pointing them out without releasing his cloak.

Taliesen and Hillel were quick to join them at the base of the statue. They were both red-faced and shivering under their cloaks. “No sign of Red Feathers?” Taliesen asked without much hope.

“None,” Rinna answered. “So we’re going to have to wait it out. Since we can’t leave the plaza, we’ll have to set ourselves up somewhere we can see people coming and going. I’ve seen a few good spots—but there’s still the guard to deal with. They’ll stop us if they realize what we’re doing. And we’ll have to come up with a plan for when Red Feathers makes an appearance. I don’t suppose anyone brought anything useful?”

Zevran had a stolen piece of seed cake wrapped in a napkin shoved in one pocket. “No.”

Hillel snapped his fingers in disappointment. “I _knew_ I should’ve brought my daggers to supper, but I foolishly left them with my good boots.”

“A loss for us all,” Rinna muttered. “I don’t _like_ having to make this up as we go, but I’m afraid that might be our only option. Don’t engage with Red Feathers right away, alright? I want to see what we’re dealing with.”

“So where do you have in mind for us to hide?” Taliesen asked, looking around the plaza.

Rinna pointed at the statues overhead. “Look at the overhang above the statues. If we can get up there, we can hide without drawing attention. No one ever looks up that high.”

Zevran studied the path of the statue to the overhang above it. Each statue was recessed into a white wall. He could see a path from the base of the statue to the top of the wall. It would be somewhat difficult, and he didn’t relish having to release his cloak long enough to scale the wall. But it was possible. And she was right: no one would ever think to look up that high.

“We can’t do this with the guards still hanging around,” Hillel pointed out. “I think Taliesen should lure them away.”

“Why him?” Rinna asked sharply.

“Because the guards are already suspicious of him,” Hillel replied.

Taliesen scowled. “One of the guards caught me looking around and demanded to know why I was out here,” he explained unhappily. “I didn’t lie quick enough. Hillel interrupted before the guard could ask any more questions, but…”

“But it wouldn’t be hard for you to get their attention and lead them away long enough for us to climb up there.” Rinna studied him. “This might work. I’ve seen your timing at training. You’re the fastest one of us, so you’d have the best chance at scaling the statue before the guards got back to their posts. And then once we’re up there, we spread out and we wait.”

“Can you get up there that fast?” Zevran asked skeptically.

“I think so.” Taliesen unfastened his cloak and hung it on Rinna’s shoulders, who blinked at him in surprise, turning slightly red. “Hold onto that for me, will you? And count to, I don’t know, thirty before you start climbing.”

Zevran and Rinna watched as Taliesen marched down the plaza, fearless and full of bravado. “Did he really have the fastest time?” Zevran whispered as soon as he was out of earshot.

“Sí,” Rinna answered as she tied the second cloak over her own, a faint flush lingering on her cheeks. “Do you not pay attention to how the other recruits are doing when we train together?”

“I pay attention. Just not as closely as you.”

“What does that—what are you _doing_?” Rinna cut herself off mid-sentence, hissing with frustration at Hillel, who had pulled himself onto the base of the statue. “Taliesen said to wait!”

Hillel ignored her. His cloak fluttered behind him as he deftly scaled the statue. Zevran glanced back at Taliesen’s distant profile, glimpsing him just before he rounded the corner. Only one guard was visible at the far end of the plaza, and he suddenly darted from his post with a shout that carried through the night. He could no longer see Taliesen, but whatever he’d done had the guards’ attention.

“That’s thirty,” Zevran called.

“I don’t think—” Rinna looked beyond him, eyebrows raised. “Alright, fine. Th-that’s thirty.” She hoisted herself onto the base of the statue, seized its exposed knee with both hands, and began crawling up the statue.

Zevran left them for the neighboring statue. It looked like Hillel was already at the top, and Rinna was making slow progress beneath him. He pulled himself onto the base of the statue. His cloak pooled on the cold, gilded sculpture underneath him. He seized it with both hands and twisted it, wrapping it around his shoulders like a scarf, before he grabbed onto a jutting edge of sculpted armor and hauled himself up into the air.

This statue was some ancient barbarian—what was Andraste’s husband’s name, Maferath?—with enough sharp edges and folds to his armor to serve as handholds. Zevran picked out the path as he ascended the statue. His skin flushed hot underneath his clothes, a strand of hair sticking to the corner of his mouth, as he navigated up to its sculpted shoulders. A gap between the statue and the overhang opened above him: the wall was smooth and jutted out above him. The statue’s head was bowed, its face held in its hands. He sat on its shoulder for a moment and planned the last few steps of his climb.

Zevran shifted so that his feet were underneath him. He was careful not to look down, but from his peripheral vision, he could tell that he was a lot farther up than he’d originally thought. High enough that he’d probably break his neck if he fell. But he was already poisoned, so who cared? He pushed his hair behind both ears before reaching out for the statue’s hands. Zevran pulled himself to the top of the statue’s head, but the overhang forced him back out a step when he straightened upright. He placed one foot on the statue’s raised forearm and bent back at the waist. There was nothing behind him except for the ground, nothing beneath him except for the jutting edges of the statue.

Something about it made Zevran feel light-headed. He tried to focus on the last few steps of his ascent. The rise of the wall was close enough that if he jumped, he could grab the edge and pull himself up.

Movement beneath him caught his eye.

Zevran didn’t know why, but he immediately turned and crouched low on the shoulder of the statue. He watched as a human man casually strolled underneath him, entirely unaware of the three children high above his head. His face was bare—no feathers, at least—and he was dressed in dark, rich velvet. He hid until the human man turned the corner at the far end of the plaza before he emerged.

Then Zevran returned to his previous position, balancing precariously on the head and forearm of the statue. He jumped straight up to the overhang—and almost immediately knew that the jump was bad. It wasn’t high enough. He reached for the overhang and _missed_ —and for one horrifying second, he felt himself falling, the open air underneath him—before a brown hand shot out and caught him by the wrist.

“Hold on!” Rinna gasped as she clung to him with both hands. Her hood flopped down against the back of her head. “Come on, I can’t—”

Hillel appeared and reached out for him. Zevran gratefully grabbed his hand with his free one, then pulled himself up. He pulled hard against them as he dug his boots against the flat, slick face of the wall. They managed to hold themselves long enough for him to traverse the short overhang and pull himself onto the roof. He landed on all fours, fresh bands of sweat around his wrists, before he collapsed onto his stomach.

“You are— _so_ —lucky,” Rinna wheezed as she sagged to her knees.

Zevran laughed as he rolled onto his back. His hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead and cheeks. Anglesa had read him his fortune before Grandmaster Talav took him away. She said he wouldn’t die young. He was never sure if she was a genuine fortune teller, but so far she was right.

Rinna wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “That was a lot harder than I thought it would be,” she muttered. “Now we just need Taliesen.”

“He’s coming.” Hillel sat near the edge of the overhang, watching the plaza far beneath them. The wind tousled his curls. “Here at the end.”

Zevran pushed himself upright before remembering the stolen piece of cake in his pocket. He’d probably just crushed it. He was quick to shove the disappointment aside as they relocated above the statue at the far end of the plaza. Taliesen appeared a moment later, red-faced and damp with sweat, and they grabbed him by the wrists and helped him up to the roof.

Rinna peered over him down to the plaza. “I don’t see any of the guards,” she said. “That’s good. What did you do?”

Taliesen rose to his feet and dusted himself off. “I was going to pickpocket the lieutenant—he’s down there, around the corner—but I…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what happened. I tripped. The rest saw me and I had to run to lose them. Think that feast is slowing me down more than I thought it would.”

“We’re safely out of sight now,” Rinna said with a sigh. She grinned. “Now we just wait for Red Feathers.”

Zevran chose that moment to retrieve his ill-gotten cake and examine it. He unwrapped the cloth napkin and found it slightly smashed but still edible.

“Not going to share?” Hillel teased, leaning over his shoulder, letting his curls brush Zevran’s cheek.

Taliesen raised his eyebrows. “You stole food from the feast and thought you could eat it in front of us?”

“I was going to save it for later, but Master Ordoño caught me before I made it back to our quarters,” Zevran defended. He still broke the slice into four pieces of roughly equal size and handed them out. “But fine. Only because this is probably our last meal.”

Rinna eyed it speculatively. “You don’t think they poisoned the food, do you?”

“No,” Zevran answered, dropping a few crumbs into his mouth. He tasted nuts and honey and something toasted. “Too much of a risk to poison everyone else.” He thought about it as he popped another piece into his mouth, then licked his lips. Every recruit and a couple of the masters were seated at the table. He couldn’t imagine they would’ve risked poisoning the food or the drink. Not if Master Ordoño only wanted to poison the four of them.

“What about the goblets?” Rinna asked. “Or the knives?”

Zevran considered this, but he wasn’t sure he believed that’s what happened. “It’s still the same problem, though. Too much of a risk to poison everyone else. Only the masters knew where to sit. The rest of us just found space where we could.”

“Unless it was supposed to be at random.”

Zevran didn’t respond as he chewed. The four of them together didn’t _feel_ random, but he couldn’t guess what Master Ordoño’s intentions were. Other than turning Satinalia into the longest night of his life.

“The note didn’t say we had to figure out how we were poisoned, only that we have to get the antidote,” Taliesen said as he handed out a hand to Rinna. “So gimme back my cloak so I can take point.”

“I didn’t ask for it!” Rinna shot back, blushing furiously as she tugged it off and shoved it into his hands. “We’ll break up into twos. One pair on each end.” She held out both hands—one still holding a few bites of the cake—and gestured to each end of the plaza.

Hillel wrapped one arm around Zevran’s shoulder. “Zev and I can take this end. You and Taliesen take the opposite.”

“Alright,” Rinna agreed warily. “Tell us if you see anything.”

***

“What are you doing back there?”

“Stop moving.”

Zevran scowled and hunched down, propping his elbows on his knees, but was immediately rewarded with a slight jerk of his hair. He straightened upright again with a huff. His eyes were focused on the dark plaza down below, which was abandoned as the rest of the city was lost to its revelry. A handful of sour-faced guards had returned to their posts about an hour ago, having finally given up their search for Taliesen.

Hillel sat behind him, one leg outstretched on either side of him, doing _something_ to his hair. He could feel it pulling and twisting as his fingers deftly worked through his hair. “I don’t think Master Ordoño poisoned us,” he remarked suddenly. “And I don’t think Taliesen believes it either. What do you think?”

“Of course we were,” Zevran replied. “What makes you think we weren’t?”

“Because I feel fine.” Hillel shrugged as he worked. “Cold and a little tired, perhaps, but mostly fine. And wouldn’t that be just like Master Ordoño to lie to us and say that we were poisoned when we weren’t?”

“Why would he lie?”

“To make us panic? To get in our heads?”

“I don’t think that’s what he’s trying to do.” Zevran yawned and tried to rearrange his stiff legs, but a sharp jerk of his hair caused him to fall still again. “Taliesen doesn’t think we were poisoned?”

“Not really, no. But it’s hard to tell with him. He puts on a brave face and doesn’t let anyone in. And there you go.” Hillel released him, and Zevran immediately reached up and touched the back of his head. His fingers trailed over twin braids that started at his temples and joined at the back of his head. “Your hair keeps falling in your face. It’s gonna get you killed one of these days.”

Zevran dropped his hand, warmth flooding his cheeks. “Gracias,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say. His face felt more exposed to the cold evening without his hair falling around his cheeks.

Hillel leaned forward and set his chin on Zevran’s shoulder. “You think we’re gonna be stuck here all night?”

Zevran glanced down at the plaza again. Someone was strolling down the length of the plaza. No feathers, but he thought he glimpsed velvet just before the figure vanished from view. He frowned. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “We’ll be here for as long as it takes.”

***

Zevran became aware of a weight on the top of his head and warmth pressed against his back. It was Hillel: his chin perched on the crown of his head, his arms loosely folded around him. He’d dozed off at some point and sunk back against his chest. Zevran had about a half-second to admit to himself that it felt _nice_ before the realization that he’d fallen asleep crashed into him. He jerked upright—and Hillel’s jaws snapped together as he was pushed back—and quickly hauled himself to his feet. “Wake up,” he hissed. “We fell asleep.”

“What?” Hillel blinked, suddenly looking awake and alarmed. He pulled himself to his feet and glanced down at the distant profiles of Taliesen and Rinna. “Shit. Do you see anything?”

“No—” Zevran peered down at the plaza and felt his heart lurch into his throat. A lone figure walked the length of the plaza wearing a white and gold mask set with three red feathers. Their red and white robes were stark even in the deep dark of the night. “Red feathers. Down there.”

Hillel crouched beside him. “It’s a _priest_ ,” he breathed, somehow turning the word into a swear.

Zevran swallowed, cold dread curling in his stomach. “Priests are off-limits. We can’t hurt them.”

Hillel was quiet for a moment, then looked again in the direction of Rinna and Taliesen. “Either they haven’t noticed or they’re asleep, too,” he whispered. “Get over there and wake them. I’m going to follow her.”

“Wait for us before you do anything,” Zevran whispered.

Hillel leaned over to him, planting a kiss, feather-light, on his lips. He was grinning when he pulled away. “I’ll be fine,” he said, then disappeared over the overhang, his cloak billowing out behind him.

Zevran was dumbstruck for all of ten seconds, his lips tingling, before remembering what he was supposed to do. He dashed across the roof, and despite his best attempts, he wasn’t as quiet as he would’ve preferred. Rinna and Taliesen were seated on the far end of the roof, leaning against each other. Her head was on his shoulder, his cheek on the top of her head. They both jerked awake at the sound of his footsteps.

Taliesen looked around blearily. “Wasappening?”

“Red Feathers is here,” Zevran whispered as he approached. “She’s a priest.”

“ _No_ ,” Taliesen moaned in disbelief before approaching the overhang to see for himself.

“I didn’t even realize we’d…” Rinna trailed off, rubbing her eyes. “How long were we out? Where’s Hillel?”

“He’s following Red Feathers,” Zevran answered.

“No, he’s not,” Taliesen said in quiet disbelief.

Zevran and Rinna joined him at the edge of the overhang. He watched as the priest strolled down the plaza, those red feathers lighting up as she passed beneath the light. Hillel followed her as silently as a ghost. He hugged the shadows near the statues. There was only one other guard at the far end of the plaza, so still and so quiet that he might’ve been asleep at his post.

They watched as Hillel stole right up to the priest. He bumped into her from behind, causing her to jump and whirl around. “Sorry,” they heard him apologize in the quiet of the night.

“You gave me a fright, child,” came the sister’s response, colored by a nervous laugh. “It’s late. You should be home in the alienage, should you not?”

“Sí, sister. Forgive me.”

“You are forgiven, but please make haste to the alienage. The guard will not appreciate finding you out in the city after dark. Maker speed your steps, my child.”

Zevran watched as the priest turned away and continued out of the plaza. And Hillel—instead of turning back to them, or giving any indication that he’d retrieved the antidote, he followed her out of the plaza and disappeared down a side street. His blood turned cold as he realized what was happening.

Hillel left them behind.

***

Zevran was quiet as he followed Taliesen and Rinna. They had lost Hillel almost immediately once he’d left the plaza; they were too slow in crawling down the statues. It was Rinna’s idea to return to the recruits’ apartment building and hope to intercept him on the way there. That was where Master Ordoño would be. The air between them was thick with tension; they were all too wound up to feel the cold.

The three children dashed through the city as quietly as ghosts. Much of the revelry had died down in the middle of the night. Music drifted out of some distant estates, but many of the other houses had fallen silent. Candles burned low in the windows, dripping fat globs of white wax onto the windowsills. They looked even more like fireflies with the rest of the city awash in dark blue.

Taliesen had fallen silent for a long time after swearing up a storm when they first left the plaza. “When I get my hands on him, I’m going to kill him,” he muttered, breaking the silence.

Rinna caught Zevran’s eye. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to make antidote, would you?”

Zevran avoided looking at her. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt guilty. “I only know a little bit—and it’s all worthless without knowing what kind of poison it is.”

“And you never figured it out?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Probably going to drink it all once he gets the chance,” Taliesen muttered as he stomped ahead. “If he hasn’t already.”

Zevran stared at the back of his cloak. His mind went back to that kiss, so quick it could’ve been a trick of his imagination. It was late and he was exhausted. He was having a hard time thinking straight.

They continued through the city in silence. Zevran dragged himself out of the spiraling of his thoughts to keep an eye out for Hillel. The city appeared still at a glance, but a closer look revealed hints of activity in the quiet corners. A guard patrolling down a lone street. An elven man pissing behind a tavern. A stray dog digging through an overturned pile of garbage.

There was no sign of Hillel.

They walked until they left behind the nicer neighborhoods of the city. No more gilded statues or white tiled streets, but streets that were dirt as often as they were cobblestone, and the chokedamp of raw leather thick in the air. There were fewer guards out here. They wouldn’t risk their necks in this part of the city.

Zevran was starting to worry that they’d turn up at the recruits’ apartments with nothing to show for their efforts. They’d failed to recover the antidote, they’d left the proximity of the Golden Plaza. Hillel would return with the antidote and without them…Zevran’s mind trailed off as he imagined the sort of punishment that would befall the rest of them. Master Ordoño would definitely think of them as failures.

“Stop!” Rinna hissed, and both boys immediately halted. She pointed down an alley that ran between two dilapidated buildings. “I saw him!”

Taliesen started to turn away. “Then we have to cut him off—”

“No, you go down that way and follow him from behind. Zevran and I will cut him off at the front. We’ll surround him so he can’t escape,” Rinna decided.

Zevran stared into the dark. “Let me go ahead alone.”

Rinna raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

_No._ ”Yeah.”

“Alright.” Rinna turned back and jogged over to Taliesen. “Come on.”

Taliesen glanced back at Zevran before following her down into the alley. Zevran sprinted the narrow street alone, vaguely aware of the way his braids bounced against his neck as he ran. He knew this neighborhood well enough to know that it was a grid. All he needed was distance and a left turn and he could cut Hillel off from ahead. It would be so much easier if he wasn’t so tired.

***

Zevran had worked up a light sweat by the time he’d reached a junction behind several apartment buildings. He was fortunate that none of them were property of the Crows—or, at least, he didn’t think they were. It was there that he waited in the dark, weaponless but cold with anger, until the careless sound of footsteps approached from the south. He stepped out from around the corner and found himself looking at Hillel.

Hillel came to a halt. His face was slightly red, shining with a sheen of sweat. “Zev,” he panted, despite his attempts to force his voice to sound even.

Zevran shoved down his cold fury and forced a grin to his face. “Hillel,” he breathed, suffusing his voice with relief. He jogged over to Hillel and threw his arms around his shoulders. “I lost them. Taliesen and Rinna, I mean. What happened? Why did you run?”

Hillel wrapped his arms around his waist and embraced him tightly. His laughter sounded nervous. “Thank the Maker that you’re alright. I don’t know how to explain it—it all happened so fast. Did you see what happened?”

Zevran was quick, pilfering the vial and folding it into the palm of his hand before they stepped apart. “No, I didn’t see anything,” he said, playing the part of the gullible idiot. He flashed Hillel an earnest look. “Are you alright? Were you hurt?”

“No, it’s—”

“Traitor!” Taliesen exclaimed as he and Rinna sprinted into view. They stopped and set themselves apart, blocking off the only other way out of the back street. He looked furious. “You stole the antidote and left us up there!”

Hillel looked between them, then flashed an imploring look at Zevran. “She didn’t _have_ the antidote, Zev. We were set up. There’s no poison and there’s no antidote.”

“What do you mean there’s no antidote?” Rinna demanded. She looked at Zevran. “Is this true? We’re not poisoned?”

Zevran glanced at her as he discreetly pocketed the antidote. She was flushed and sweaty, her words coming out in a breathless rush. Taliesen was red-faced and breathing hard beside her. They looked about as terrible as he felt. He was starting to come to terms with whatever punishment was going to be inflicted on them, because he knew they’d failed at least part of the trial. It had been a terrible night.

And then it clicked.

“It’s true,” Hillel said. He reached down and laced his fingers through Zevran’s. “All we can do now is go back and tell Master Ordoño what we _didn’t_ find on Red Feathers. Right?”

Zevran tightened his fingers around him—then squeezed harder, twisting his arm at the wrist, forcing his spine to bend, and drove his heel into the back of his knee. Hillel was caught completely off-guard. He landed with a sharp hiss of pain, then tried to thrust out his opposite fist—but Zevran caught him by the wrist. “You’re lying,” he panted.

“No, I’m not,” Hillel grunted. “There’s no poison and there’s no antidote. Why are you doing this, Zev?”

Zevran locked eyes with Taliesen. “My right pocket.”

Taliesen approached him with a look of confusion, but withdrew the contents of his right pocket: a slender vial of thick, amber liquid. “What is this?” he asked as he removed the cork. Zevran caught the scent of heatherum and foxite as it wafted out of the vial.

Hillel huffed a sigh as his struggles subsided. “Fine. There’s an antidote. And there’s probably poison. But they only gave us enough for one person. As soon as I realized Master Ordoño set us up, I ran. I’m not dying to poison after everything I’ve been through.”

“Idiot.” Zevran shook his head. He released him, then aimed a swift kick to the side of his leg, knocking him to the ground. “There’s enough here for all four of us.”

Hillel twisted on the ground, but before he could move, Rinna placed one boot on his hand, pinning him to the ground. “What are you talking about?” he growled.

“Heatherum and foxite.” Zevran took the vial from Taliesen. “Fereldan herbs used to make a concentrator agent. Each of us wouldn’t need much of a concentrated antidote. Maybe a swallow.”

“So we _were_ poisoned?” Rinna asked uncertainly. She looked and sounded winded.

Zevran tossed back a swallow, then handed the vial to Taliesen and gestured for him to do the same. “Soldier’s Bane.” He licked his lips. The antidote had the lingering, earthen taste of lifestone, tingling on his tongue. “How tired we’ve been feeling, the dumb mistakes we’ve been making—it’s because of Soldier’s Bane. It weakens its victim, makes them slow and tired.” He hadn’t yet figured out _how_ they were poisoned, but as Taliesen had pointed out earlier in the evening, that wasn’t part of the trial.

Taliesen swallowed a mouthful of the antidote, then handed the vial to Rinna, who did the same. “I think we’ll hold onto the rest until we get back to the apartments.” He gestured for Rinna to step back, and as soon as she did, he seized Hillel by the arms and dragged him to his feet. Taliesen twisted his arms behind him and held his wrists together. “You can have your share once we’re home.”

Hillel glared at him. “How charitable.”

***

Master Ordoño was still awake when they returned to the recruits’ apartments. He was seated in the common area with a glass of plum wine in one hand, and he wasn’t alone. The man in velvet that Zevran had seen earlier that night was seated across from him, enjoying a glass of the same vintage. They looked as if they’d been quietly discussing something of interest when the three recruits and their prisoner marched in.

“We finished your trial, Master.” Taliesen released Hillel and kicked him once behind the knees, forcing him down onto the floor with a sharp _thud_. “Well, three of us did, anyway.”

Master Ordoño exchanged a pointed look with his guest before rising to his feet. “I suppose Hillel has done something to deserve this treatment, hasn’t he?”

“He stole the antidote and took off alone with it,” Taliesen explained. “We had to run him down and take it back.”

Zevran looked past him to the unfamiliar man. He was human, dressed in velvet that was a deep shade of burgundy, wearing boots that reached his knees. His eyes met Zevran’s and he smiled in a way that indicated his approval. Zevran had seen him twice out on the plaza earlier that night, but he had the distinct feeling that he’d been watching them for longer. He’d known they were up there on that roof, might’ve even known that he was hiding above the statue during his first stroll through the plaza.

“Oh, Hillel.” Master Ordoño crouched down on the floor and looked down at the recruit, who stared sullenly back at him through his coppery curls. “Your interest in self-preservation is commendable, but it matters less when your comrades can run you down and exact their revenge.” He glanced up at Taliesen. “I assume you’ve already taken the antidote.”

“For the Soldier’s Bane,” Zevran said, pulling his eyes away from the stranger. “Three of us took it. The rest is for Hillel.”

Master Ordoño raised his eyebrows as Rinna handed him the antidote. Enough amber liquid for one last swallow filled the vial, clinging to the sides of the glass as he tilted it in his hands. “Such mercy is unexpected.” He straightened upright with a chuckle. “It wasn’t part of your trial to figure out the poison, but I’m delighted that you did, conejito.”

“So I’m right? It was Soldier’s Bane?”

“Sí. Well done.” Master Ordoño pocketed the vial and gestured dismissively at them. “The three of you have earned your rest for the night. Remove your cloaks and turn in.”

Zevran didn’t immediately move. “It was the cloaks,” he realized.

Master Ordoño looked at him in surprise. “What?”

“The—the cloaks,” Zevran repeated. He made a vague gesture near his throat. “You put our cloaks on for us before sending us to the plaza. It was a contact poison. You put it on our skin when you put our cloaks on.”

Master Ordoño smiled in a way that told him he was right. “Get some sleep,” he said, pleased. They were being dismissed. His gaze settled on Hillel. “Stay here. We have to discuss your punishment.”

***

“Hey.” Rinna tapped Zevran on the shoulder and stopped him outside their quarters. It was quiet in the building. There were no guards posted in the apartments—none were necessary. No one knew where House Arainai stored their recruits. Rinna studied him with a troubled look, visible in the semi-darkness of the hall. “Sorry about…”

Zevran knew immediately what she was talking about. “Yeah.”

“You liked him, didn’t you?”

“…It didn’t mean anything. Not really.”

Rinna hesitated, as if she wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say. “You look good with your hair like that. You should wear it up more often.” She smiled as she stepped around him. “See you in the morning, Zev.”

Zevran blushed. He absentmindedly stroked the twin braids that hung down the nape of his neck before following her into their quarters. All he wanted to do was sleep.

***

**9:16 Dragon, 3 Firstfall**

The contract on Conde Romaso was carried out without incident. Sister Estefania is unaware of the role she played in our recruits’ trial. Perhaps she will reconsider breaking her divine vows in the future. The Maker’s reach is long, and sometimes His fist is a claw.

Your three recruits are of more interest than a slaver with poor taste in companions. Everything I’ve seen leads me to agree with your assessment as we discussed on Satinalia. It is rare to train apprentices as a singular unit, but in this matter, your suggestion has merit.

I have decided to take on all three as my apprentices. They have handled themselves quite capably in their trials thus far, and with the right guidance, they will become fearsome little crows. Their apprenticeship will begin on the first of next month. You have the rest of this month to impart your final lessons. Make wise use of this time.

Master Eoman Arainai

— _a letter addressed to Master Ordoño Arainai, written in Crows’ cant_


	4. The House of Crows, Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tanya Tagaq, "Rape Me" (originally by Nirvana)
> 
> _Rape me_   
>  _Rape me, my friend_   
>  _Rape me_   
>  _Rape me again_
> 
> **Content warning for child sexual abuse and grooming.**

Zevran found himself standing outside the washroom. His hands were stinging; red lines cut across the soft, fleshy undersides of his fingers. Those lines marked where the iron cord dug into his flesh as he’d wound it around his hands. Fresh blood had somehow worked its way under his nails, and it dried in droplets on his clothes.

Master Eoman laid a hand on his narrow shoulder, making him jump. “You’ve done well, my apprentice,” he said—

_(her fingers raked up the side of his neck, combing her fingers through his hair, pulling it into her fist)_

—Zevran forced a smile to his mouth. “Such high praise from my master,” he teased. “The others would get jealous if they were around to hear.”

Master Eoman didn’t acknowledge the remark. He withdrew his hand and turned away. “Bathe and turn in for the night. You’ve earned your freedom.”

Zevran pushed open the door to the washroom and stepped inside. A prepared bath awaited him on the other side: a wooden tub lined with linen and filled to the brim with hot water. His amber eyes tracked the visible tendrils of steam, rising from the still surface in wispy curls. He hadn’t expected a _warm_ bath. An unexpected touch of kindness from his aloof master.

***

Zevran bathed alone. He had privacy and time for the first time in the six years he’d been with House Arainai.

Few were still awake at the late hour. The two floors below, where the recruits were packed in like crates, had fallen silent as they were at last dismissed from whatever torture they’d endured for the day. His fellow apprentices on this floor had all turned in for the evening. Even the senior apprentices on the floor above had fallen quiet, and the masters above them were withdrawing for the evening. He leaned against the covered back of the tub and listened to the floorboards creaking above his head. _Someone_ was awake and tiptoeing around.

Zevran didn’t care. He had recently lost his desire to sneak around the building in the dead of night. And his warm water was rapidly cooling. He stretched out his limbs and tried to focus on scrubbing himself clean. His legs would soon be too long for the tub, he’d noticed—

_(fingers shoved between his thighs, a murmur of approval against his ear, “you’re big for a knife-ear”)_

—Zevran realized that he’d stopped scrubbing at some point as his thoughts returned to him. One hand loosely held the bar of soap, animal fat and ash, his fist floating just beneath the surface of the water. Iridescent swirls turned gently in the water. He blinked several times, bringing his thoughts back to himself, then sucked in a breath and plunged himself underwater. It was hot against his face. His blond hair floated above him. It made him think of bodies floating in the river. He stayed underwater until he thought his lungs were going to burst.

***

Zevran found himself standing outside the apprentices’ quarters, outside the room that he shared with Taliesen and Rinna. He didn’t remember walking to the apprentices’ quarters. His thoughts wandered away from him again. It was hard to focus on what he was doing, but three days in the depths of the Oubliette would do that to anyone. He shoved those thoughts aside and pushed open the door.

The apprentices’ quarters were still and unlit. A sliver of the street light fell through the arrowslit carved in the exterior wall, red-orange light thin as a razor. Two forms slumbered on the other end of the room. Their room was both larger and smaller than their old quarters downstairs, which had been so much larger, but packed to the rafters with recruits. Bunks lining the walls, cots shoved into the open space. Here it was only three beds crammed into a small room, three chests at the foot of the bed. Taliesen slept in the middle and had to crawl over one bed to reach his own. They had so much space.

Zevran snuck across the room and slipped into his bed without making a sound. His wet hair pooled on the pillow beside him, rapidly turning cold in the night. Taliesen was asleep to his right. Their beds were so close together that one of his hands had flopped over onto Zevran’s mattress. Rinna slept on the other side of him, a small dark figure in the shadows, curled up with her back to them.

Someone walked down the corridor, striding right past their door—

_(he tensed when he heard footsteps, but she didn’t stop what she was doing to him, and she laughed at the idea that they could get caught)_

—Zevran realized that he had tensed under the covers and was waiting for the moment that the door would open. They _got_ caught, and his punishment was three days down at the bottom of the Oubliette. In the dark. Surrounded by cold stone.

***

Zevran was the first to waken. He slept poorly despite his exhaustion. Something seemed to wake him every hour or so, and around the time that the skies were lifting to a deep blue, he found himself unable to fall back asleep. A chilly breeze whistled through the arrowslit, carrying in the stench of ocean water and raw leather. He laid in bed and watched as the deep blue lightened to gray and then orange-red.

Rinna awoke some time later. She shifted in her bed with a deep inhale, rustling the blankets as she hugged her limbs closer to her body. The arrowslit permitted a draft that always seemed to chill her more than either of them. He heard the exact moment when her languid movements became stiff, then she bolted upright and ripped her blanket to the side. One edge landed on Taliesen, waking him. “Andraste’s _blood_ ,” she swore under her breath.

Zevran pushed himself onto his elbows. “Rinna?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

Rinna looked at him in surprise. “Y-you’re back,” she said, relief chasing across her features. But then her eyes dropped back to her own bed. She swallowed. “There’s blood in my bed.” Her voice pitched higher with fear. “Why is there blood in my bed? Is this a trial?”

Taliesen pushed himself upright with a tired groan. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Zevran crawled out of bed and circled around the cluttered furniture for a better look. It was immediately apparent: a small puddle of blood stained her sheets, about as wide as his palm, and right about where she was sitting—

_(his fingers felt warm and slick, and his arm was starting to get tired, but she held him in her grip like a vice)_

—Zevran heard someone speak his name. It was Taliesen. He had dragged himself out from under his covers and was sitting beside Rinna, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. She was staring down at the blood with one hand pressed to her mouth. He was staring at Zevran. “ _Zev_ ,” he repeated impatiently. “Can you find one of the masters?”

The door opened before Zevran could respond. Master Eoman surprised them by walking into their quarters, well-dressed and clean-shaven. It was rare that he was the one who came to rouse them. “My three apprentices, together again.” He stopped and eyed Rinna, who stared at him helplessly with tears in her eyes. “And apparently in great distress. Speak, Rinnala.”

Rinna gestured vaguely to the small circle of blood in front of her. “I—I don’t know, Master. What’s happening to me? Is this a trial?”

Master Eoman took one look at the blood and gave an amused chuckle. “It means you’re a woman.” He raised one hand and gestured toward her. “Come. Master Guili can help you.”

None of the three adolescents knew what was happening. Rinna crawled off the bed and followed Master Eoman out the door, glancing uncertainly back at the two boys before they vanished down the hall.

“I guess there was no trial,” Taliesen mumbled, plopping back on his bed. He yawned and ran one hand through his untidy black hair. “I guess if Rinna’s alright, then you can tell me where _you’ve_ been for the last few days. When did you get back? Where were you?”

Zevran felt tired now that the excitement of the morning passed. He opened the chest at the foot of his bed and busied himself with its contents. He’d found clean clothes laid out for him after his hot bath the previous night, but he wanted something of his own. He wanted his mother’s gloves, buried under the floorboards beneath his bed, but he couldn’t touch them. Not now. “I got in trouble,” was all he said after a long pause.

Taliesen rolled his eyes. “You were _already_ in trouble, Zev. Weren’t you supposed to be doing something for Master Mercatante on the top floor?”

Zevran produced a clean change of clothes and tossed them on his bed. He started to shut the chest, but the heavy lid slipped from his grasp and slammed shut with a resounding _thud!_ that made him jump. His eyes darted nervously to Taliesen, who was still watching him, waiting for an explanation. He forced a smile to his face and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “I got into trouble _again_ ,” he amended. “Quite the accomplishment, I know.”

“But where did they send you?” Taliesen pressed. “We were worried about you. Master Eoman wouldn’t tell us where you’d gone. Last night he sent me down to clean the cells when I asked.” He wrinkled his nose. “You should’ve seen it, Zev. One was bad. Still covered in fresh blood.”

Zevran felt very far away from himself when he answered: “They sent me down to the Oubliette.”

***

Rinna returned to their quarters an hour later. She was alone and still sniffling. “Master Eoman wants to see us in an hour,” was all she said before she returned to her bed and began to strip the sheets.

Zevran and Taliesen watched her. Neither quite knew what to say to her.

“So?” Taliesen prompted. “What’s the verdict? Are you going to live?”

“Of _course_ I’m going to live,” Rinna shot back with a scoff. She shook her head in disbelief, her eyes dropping down to her hands. It didn’t escape Zevran’s notice that she wasn’t quite looking at either of them. She was embarrassed. “It’s just…something that happens to women. A couple of boys wouldn’t understand. All you need to know is that I’m fine.”

Zevran cocked his head to the side. “So you’re a woman now? You don’t look like any woman I’ve ever seen,” he teased—

_(“Put your hands here,” she said as she guided his hands to where she wanted them)_

—Rinna’s pointed ears twitched with annoyance. “So you’re the judge now of who is a woman and who isn’t?” she snapped. “And where have _you_ been for the last few days? Taliesen and I were worried out of our minds for you. We thought something bad had happened.”

“He was sent down to the Oubliette,” Taliesen answered before Zevran could respond.

“What?” Rinna asked, alarmed. “Is that true, Zev?”

“More or less.” Zevran shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about it.

Rinna abandoned her sheets. She stormed around the cluttered furniture and threw herself down on the edge of his bed. “You can’t just leave it at that,” she insisted, studying him with worried brown eyes. “How did you manage to get yourself thrown down in the Oubliette?”

Zevran pulled away from her as she reached for him. He couldn’t stand to be close to anyone. It made his skin itch. “Clearly I just wanted to see if it was real,” he muttered. “And good news: the Oubliette is indeed real. So try not to test Master Eoman’s patience too much.”

His tone was bitter enough that Rinna and Taliesen looked at each other with concern.

“How about we get something to eat before we head upstairs?” Taliesen offered tentatively. “I don’t know about either of you, but I’m starved. Master Eoman had me scrubbing that cell for half the night.”

Rinna looked sick at the thought of eating, but her eyes flickered nervously over to Zevran. “I could eat, but only if Zev comes with us,” she said—

_(when it was over, she called him a good boy, told him he wasn’t like the other knife-ears)_

—Zevran forced a grin to his face. “Only if I don’t have to talk about the Oubliette,” he agreed. “Unless you _want_ to hear about all the mud at the bottom of the pit. And not all of it’s mud.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Ugh. Pass.” Taliesen slung one arm around Rinna’s shoulders as he crawled off the bed, then grabbed Zevran by the waist. “But if neither of you want to eat, I’m sure I could finish your share.” He grinned as he steered them out of the apprentices’ quarters.

***

Zevran never told either of them what happened in the storeroom on the top floor _or_ what had earned him a three-day vacation down in the Oubliette. He didn’t tell anyone at all—not until the days of the Fifth Blight, when Antiva and the Crows were far behind him. It wasn’t even a story he meant to tell.

He and Grecia were on watch one night in the late autumn. They were perhaps a half-day west of Denerim, camping in the shadow of the Imperial Highway. It was dark and brisk, and even their position huddled close to the larger of the two bonfires did little to warm their bones. At least, in the dark, he could no longer see the unnatural blight-storm churning over the southern edge of the world. And he had a reasonable excuse to sit much closer to her than he normally would.

Somehow the conversation had turned to their first time—a topic that delighted Zevran, eager as he was to learn everything he could about the woman who’d spared his life some weeks earlier. Grecia indulged him by going first: “She was the daughter of one of my mother’s friends. Her mother _desperately_ hoped to marry her off someday, but she was too rebellious to be presented at court without embarrassing her parents. I wanted terribly to impress her.”

Zevran grinned at her. “I can imagine that: little Grecia showing off for the pretty girl, hoping to win her affection. Did you dress up for her, too?”

Grecia turned bright red. She had pale enough skin that her blush showed easily. He had developed a new love of provoking these reactions in her, which was far easier in private than around the rest of their companions. “Not _little_ ,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. “This was perhaps two years ago. And there _was_ a dress, but only the sort that one would normally wear to dinner.”

“Of course. Dressing up for dinner. A completely normal thing to do.”

“The Crows never made you dress up for dinner?”

“Not unless someone was going to die before dessert.” Zevran let his grin become a smirk as he touched the collar of his leather cuirass. “Although I must admit, I look quite fetching in the right doublet. Perhaps if we survive all this Blight business, you’ll have the chance to see for yourself.”

Her blue eyes lingered on his chest. She was most certainly imagining him in a doublet. Perhaps even imagining what he looked like underneath? He’d hoped for a response, but she resumed speaking without acknowledging his flirtation. “Anyway,” she continued. “We found ourselves in my father’s study one early afternoon, and one thing led to another and…that was my first time.”

“That’s it? You skipped over the best part, my fair Warden.”

“I’m not sharing those details with you. They’re private.”

“Oh, fine.” Zevran huffed theatrically. “You Fereldans and your modesty, honestly. One would think barbarians would have more _passion_ about their conquests.”

“At least us _barbarians_ don’t refer to our lovers as _conquests_ , as if they were battles to be won and not people deserving of respect,” she shot back, mostly without heat.

Zevran raised his hands defensively. The gesture caused his cloak to fall back from his forearms, baring his exposed skin to the night. “Forgive me, my Warden, I meant no disrespect. I, for one, am more than willing to be the conquest of a barbarian. Perhaps a gorgeous woman with chestnut hair and an admirable propensity for tying knots?”

Grecia was a hard woman to read. She had resisted his charm but had never quite outright rejected him—leaving him on somewhat uncertain ground with her. And this was one of those times. The corner of her mouth raised in an amused smile, but again, she didn’t acknowledge his flirting. Instead, she said, “I’ve shared my story. Are you willing to share yours?”

“Oh, let’s see,” Zevran mused. “I was raised in a whorehouse, you remember this? It’s hard to say explicitly what my _first time_ actually was, considering that upbringing. If I had to guess, I would say it was when I was thirteen.”

Grecia’s brows shot up. “Thirteen is young.”

“Is it? How old were you? I don’t recall you saying.”

“Seventeen.”

“ _Seventeen_?” Zevran repeated in disbelief. “Were your parents saving your virginity for your husband?”

“Maker’s breath, why would you put it that way?” Grecia asked, blushing furiously. “The answer is _no_ , and that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

“But you should see yourself, my Warden. You have such a lovely glow when you blush,” Zevran teased. “As I was saying, before I was _rudely_ interrupted—” he added without heat, glancing in her direction, “—I was thirteen. Just a boy, I’ll admit. She was older, perhaps eighteen, and well-endowed, as I recall.

“As it happened, we were both sent to the top floor for punishment. We were both apprentices at the time, although she was farther along in her training and was serving a different master. It was mere happenstance that we’d both provoked the ire of our respective masters and were banished to the top floor to serve out our punishment. She was already there when Master Mercatante led me into the storeroom. Our punishment was identifying and labeling House Arainai’s inventory of unmarked poisons.

“Her name was Yenega, and although we worked together for several days before anything happened, it was clear from the start that she had an interest in me. She had something of a fixation on elves, you see, and who can blame her? I am quite eye-catching, in my own way. We had worked together for about three days when she first made her move. I don’t remember what led up to it, only that she kissed me. And I, of course, was over the moons with just that. A kiss from a beautiful woman! Young Zevran could have died from happiness, his short life well spent.

“It didn’t stop there, of course. This is a story about our first time, is it not? We continued to see each other for about a week, during which we made very little progress on our punishment at all. She showed me the sorts of things that a young elven boy could do with a grown woman. All I wanted was to please her. But we were caught, of course, and our fun came to an end. She was sent down to the cells, and I was thrown down the Oubliette for three days.

“I don’t quite remember which day was our first, only that it was a week of many, many firsts. And that,” Zevran finished with a flourish, “was my first time.”

Zevran noticed, upon completion of his tale, that Grecia looked uncomfortable. He inched closer to her on the dead log they were sharing and wrapped one arm around her shoulders—tentatively, at first, and when she didn’t pull away, he let his hand settle on her upper arm. “Come, my Warden, there is no need to be upset,” he reassured her. “You are charmingly principled, but for a boy who grew up in a whorehouse, thirteen is quite the stately age to lose his virginity.”

Grecia frowned at him. “Zevran, that woman took advantage of you,” she whispered, clearly distressed. “And did you say that you were thrown down an _Oubliette_?”

Zevran shrugged. “The Crows were quite inventive with their punishments. Your family had a castle, yes? You must have owned one.”

“Well, yes, my family’s castle had one that was used during the occupation. It’s torture. And they sent a child down there?”

“Not for no reason. We were in that storeroom as a punishment, and when Master Mercatante caught us having sex instead of finishing our task—well, other, more severe forms of punishment had to be used.” Zevran shrugged. He didn’t dwell on it. “I was permitted to leave early, if that’s any consolation.”

“How could that _possibly_ —that woman took advantage of you, a _child_.” Grecia stared at him helplessly, a look he didn’t understand. “Do you not realize how appalling this story is?”

“I think you’re reading too much into it,” Zevran said, slowly pulling away from her. He wasn’t sure why her reaction bothered him so much. “Perhaps we shouldn’t speak of this anymore, hm? My apologies for upsetting you, Warden.”

Grecia stared at him as if she wanted to do something, but couldn’t. He realized she had clenched both fists in her lap, nearly hidden beneath the folds of her cloak. “Fine,” she relented, the frustration evident in her tone. But her blue eyes lingered on him. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what that woman did to you. It wasn’t right. It’s not your fault.”

Zevran said nothing. He reasoned in the privacy of his mind that she was the daughter of a teyrn and couldn’t fathom the life of a boy born in a whorehouse. The fault laid not with him, or even with Yenega. But those words twisted in the back of his mind. Somehow they felt hollow.

And he’d almost forgotten that he’d been let out of the Oubliette early. Why was that?

The answer came to him much later: because Yenega had tried to escape from her cell. She’d killed her guard, stolen her armor, and was halfway out the door when she was caught. Master Eoman had tossed down a rope to him on his third day of confinement. He vaguely remembered climbing out. A deal had been made between their two masters: if Zevran could personally deal with Yenega, then he wouldn’t have to go back into the Oubliette.

He used an iron cord.

It was hidden in his bracer as he was let into her cell, where he pretended that he’d been caught and was being imprisoned with her. She’d had no idea what happened to him after Master Mercatante first caught them. They talked until her guard was lowered, during which he’d led her to believe that he’d like to see her again when they were both let out. Then he strangled her.

His reward was a hot bath before he returned to their shared quarters. Rinna was still alive then, Taliesen still within reach.

Zevran remained beside Grecia for the rest of their watch, but his mind was far away, lost to the Antiva of more than a decade ago.

***

**9:18 Dragon, 14 Harvestmere**

Allow me to express my condolences for the loss of your apprentice. It is unfortunate not just that she was caught doing something untoward with a fellow apprentice, but that she attempted to escape her punishment by abandoning the Crows. I know you well enough to know that her disloyalty is not a reflection of you as a master, Maso. And I hope that you will not hold my apprentice’s less scrupulous actions as a reflection of myself as a master.

Our arrangement was carried out successfully, and my apprentice has been rewarded. I will endeavor to prevent this indiscretion from repeating itself in the future. The last we spoke, you seemed confused and pained by the actions taken by your apprentice. My suggestion to you is that you return to taking contracts for a time. Return to what has brought you satisfaction in our line of work. And then you can return to a future crop of recruits with a clear conscience and a new resolve.

Master Eoman Arainai

— _a letter addressed to Master Tommaso Arainai, written in Crows’ cant_


	5. The House of Crows, Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seinabo Sey, "I Owe You Nothing"
> 
> _Why you always have to try me?_   
>  _You think that I'm gon' follow blindly_   
>  _Why you always have to try me?_   
>  _You think that I'm gon' follow blindly_
> 
> **Content warning for child abuse and murder.**

“Your trial,” Master Eoman announced, “is to assassinate an errant Crow.”

Outside it was a bright and breezy spring afternoon, but inside it was shut up and too warm. Eoman kept the windows—real windows—shut and had candles burning all over the sitting room. It was supposed to keep the stench of the leather-making district out of his living quarters. They were high up on the fourth floor, but it wasn’t enough to get away from the smell.

Zevran felt tired in the warm room, but he snapped out of it upon hearing the word _assassinate_. On either side of him, Taliesen and Rinna both sat a little straighter. Apprentices were rarely sent out on assassinations, and for a singular purpose: one final test to prove their worth. And those that performed to satisfaction were made Crows.

Rinna was the first among them to speak, but despite the way she’d straightened up with interest, her tone was guarded. “You want us to assassinate a _Crow_ , Master? Not someone still in good standing with House Arainai, sí?”

Eoman nodded before taking his time in sipping his brandy. They waited on him, not the other way around. His posture was the very image of leisure. He cradled his glass in one hand, his wrist balanced on his knee, ankle perched on the opposite leg. “One of our young Crows has made the unfortunate decision to leave House Arainai. He has found himself a patron who will spirit him away from Antiva before Summerday. They mistakenly believe his coin will keep them safe.”

He plucked a scroll from the table beside him and held it out to them; Rinna rose to accept it. “This has everything that you need to know. Our wayward Crow and his patron are the targets of your assassination. How you choose to go about this is entirely up to you, but the fact of the assassinations should be unmistakable. He is a traitor to the Crows. The ones who find their corpses should know it.”

Rinna broke the seal and unfurled the parchment, revealing a contract written in tight, neat script. Zevran didn’t recognize the handwriting. It certainly wasn’t his master’s, and the name signed at the bottom was _Grandmaster Isidora Arainai_. But his eyes strayed over another name, a name that belonged to their intended victim: _Hillel_.

A strange lump formed in his throat. He mentally chastised himself for his reaction. It was ridiculous to feel apprehensive about it. He hadn’t seen Hillel in what, three years? Four?

“His patron is the third son of the Salvi family,” Eoman continued. “We have reason to believe that they are unaware of what their son has chosen to do. Leave them and their servants alive. They will be deeply remorseful once they learn how he has betrayed Antiva.”

“What if they’ve hired guards? Mercenaries?” Rinna asked. “Can we kill them, or do we have to leave them alive, too?”

The corners of his mouth quirked in a smile. It was the most they ever got out of him when he was pleased. “What you do with hired swords is your decision.” He gestured to the door behind them. “You have what you need. They plan to leave the country before Summerday. Best not to permit that to happen, or your trial will become that much harder. Dismissed.”

***

By the time they reached their quarters downstairs, nervous apprehension was rapidly becoming excitement.

They were relocated to the third floor only a year ago, to slightly larger quarters that had the benefit of a private washroom, but it suddenly felt too small. Zevran and Taliesen crowded around Rinna to read the scroll in her hands. It was dated three days ago. They were quiet for a time as they digested the new information recorded in the contract.

Taliesen was the first to break the silence. “So, Hillel betrayed the Crows, huh?” he questioned, eyeing Zevran. “I have to admit, after everything they’ve put us through, it seems like a waste to survive all that and then run away.”

Zevran didn’t care for the way the question was aimed at him. What happened between them was a long time ago; he hadn’t thought about it in several years. “Still feeling sore over what happened?”

Taliesen scoffed. “Can you blame me? He almost cost us that trial.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rinna cut across. “What _does_ matter is that we have free reign in how we want to handle this. With a few parameters. Summerday is less than two weeks from now, so if we want to catch them before they escape the country, we’ll have to act fast.”

“You don’t _really_ think he’d make us chase those two across Thedas just for this trial, do you?” Taliesen asked, but the false note of his voice gave away his opinion.

Zevran had no doubts about it. Master Eoman had put them through a _lot_ since taking them on as his apprentices almost four years ago. In that time, he had been repeatedly tortured on the rack, thrown down an Oubliette for three days, subjected to repeated interrogations that lasted for hours at a time, and numerous other torments. And that was not counting the more personal slights. Such as his mother’s gloves, discovered underneath the floorboards when they were first moved from the second floor to the third. Master Eoman whisked them away and gave him twelve lashes. The fate of those gloves was still unknown to him.

“He would probably force us to procure the coin to travel on our own,” Zevran said, “and then when we finally got back, he’d kill the three of us for failure.”

Taliesen didn’t disagree. He looked at Rinna, pausing to dust something off her shoulder. “Where do we start?”

“First? We need to know who we’re dealing with,” Rinna said. “I don’t know anything about this Salvi family, and I had no idea that Hillel had betrayed the Crows. Zevran? You should talk to his former master and find out what happened. There might be something useful. And Taliesen and I will track down more information on this family.”

“Alright.” Zevran plucked the scroll out of her fingers and rolled it up. He smacked the back of Taliesen’s thigh with the scroll on the way out the door, smirking at the way he jumped. “Try not to have too much fun without me.”

***

Villa Arainai a Ciudad Antiva was the second home of House Arainai. Their first suffered extensive damage during the Storm Age and was all but lost to the New Exalted Marches. This one had the fortune to have survived the recent civil war completely untouched.

The last time Zevran had been summoned to Villa Arainai, he was eleven and their grandmaster had just been executed. He’d thought he’d misremembered it as larger than it was, but as he strode through the gates, he realized that his memory hadn’t done it justice. Villa Arainai was a generous two stories high, with one tower that rose higher. It was all sharp corners and straight lines, roughly rectangular in shape, with long halls that embraced an inner courtyard at the center. The roofing was orange tiles, the walls sun-faded yellow with white trim. Gardens in full bloom filled in the empty space around the villa.

Zevran ascended a sun-bleached staircase watched over by chantric statues. He recognized most of them: Maferath in his grief, dressed in barbaric leathers, his head in his hands; Havard in his determination, half-dead and carrying a massive urn on his back; Cathaire and Justinia; and at the top, of course, Blessed Andraste. A few guards milled about in Arainai’s colors, but those were just the visible ones. More watched from the shadows. There were no trespassers at Villa Arainai.

He wondered how they knew who he was. Maybe the grandmaster kept sketches of all the apprentices, crossing out the ones that had died? If so, he hoped his artist had done a good job.

Master Sillitta owned an apartment at the end of a hallway covered floor-to-ceiling in frescoes. Even the door had been painted: the image of a pregnant woman with rays of light from her stomach. Zevran knocked on the door and tried to remember the woman’s name. Master Eoman had made them learn their Chant, and he was certain that was supposed to be Andraste’s mother. What was her name? It started with a _b_.

The door opened before the answer came to him. Master Sillitta was fortyish and attractive, her glossy black hair tied up in a messy bun. Her perfume was orange blossoms, curling around him like a mist, but underneath he smelled brandy. He greeted her with a bouquet of white lilies and carnations.

“My condolences, Maestra,” Zevran said as he offered her a half-bow.

“You’re the one that will be killing my former apprentice?” Master Sillitta phrased it as a question, but it wasn’t one. She accepted the bouquet with an amused smile that made her look tired. “Bold. Lucky you, I like bold.” She held open the painted door and invited him inside.

Zevran glanced around as he walked into the apartment. It had the same painted walls, half-covered behind bookshelves and enormous paintings. Little trinkets covered every inch of the surface. It was like she was making up for everything she hadn’t been able to keep as a recruit. His fingers itched to steal something. As he passed by an open door, he glimpsed several chests thrown open around a stately bed, carelessly packed with clothes.

Master Sillitta led him to a sitting room. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing at a cushioned loveseat with the bouquet. She set the flowers in a vase, then retrieved a half-empty bottle of brandy from underneath a cupboard. And as she worked, she talked. “I suppose you’re here for information on my former apprentice. He excelled in setting up ambushes, striking from stealth, killing quickly with a dagger. And he was an excellent liar.” Everything came out in dry detail, like she was giving a report to a fellow master.

Zevran reclined on the couch, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. He resolved to look more comfortable than he felt. Her apartment was the very meaning of the word _opulent_. “I remember. He nearly deceived me when we worked together under Master Ordoño. Our trial was to—”

“I know about your trial.” She turned around and presented him with a glass swirling with amber liquid, almost red in the candlelight. The other she kept for herself. He accepted the glass, feeling a bit thrown by the generosity. “Ordoño sends us those little reports he writes up about your trials and your training. ‘Excellent liar. Charming. Does not work well with others. Most suited for solitary contracts and seductions.’”

It was the first Zevran had ever heard of _reports_ , but he supposed it wasn’t entirely surprising. The Crows were painstakingly methodical about everything. “I can only imagine what he wrote about me,” he remarked, flashing her a charming smile. “Perhaps the words ‘ridiculously’ and ‘handsome’ were used right next to each other.”

Master Sittilla snorted. “You’re too young for me, conejito.”

Zevran pressed a hand to his chest in a theatrical display. “Maestra, I would never presume that a woman of your age would be interested in a mere apprentice.”

“Not always a safe presumption to make around here.” Master Sittilla offered him a smile he didn’t fully understand. She clinked her glass against his as she settled down on the loveseat. One leg was brought up on the seat cushions and bent at the knee, and she leaned back, propping up her elbow and curling her fist beneath her cheek. She held her glass in the opposite hand. “You’re one of Eoman’s, aren’t you? The whoreson.”

“I’m flattered that you even know I exist,” Zevran said, smiling. He ignored the way _whoreson_ made his ears burn.

“How could we not? Who takes on three apprentices?” Master Sittilla asked incredulously, then sipped her brandy. “I still think he’s mad, but it’s not like my _one_ apprentice fared better. Eoman must have been so pleased when he procured the contract for that idiot boy. Maybe he even cracked a smile.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen my master smile, but if such a thing happens, I’ll write to you at once and describe it in great detail.”

“An event for the archives: _on this day in Bloomingtide, on the twentieth year of the Dragon Age, Eoman Arainai smiled once. Briefly_.”

They laughed. Master Sillitta took another drink of her brandy. Zevran took a tentative sip of his: it smelled and tasted like raspberries, a hint of cherry, and something deeper and rich. It was less sweet than he thought it would be.

Her cheer was quick to fade. She moved her hand from her cheek to the side of her head, tucking a strand of loose black hair behind her ear. “They tell you not to get too close to your apprentices. But how do you avoid that? How does Eoman avoid that?”

“He never smiles. Or shares his brandy.” Zevran raised his glass to her. He had the sense that she wanted to talk, and there was a part of him, after many years of being denied even the most basic answers, that yearned to know what she knew about his master. But he held back. “And I know your apprentice. He was—and perhaps still is—easy to like. Perhaps his patron feels the same.” He mirrored her language, carefully avoiding speaking his name.

“Ah, yes, the patron.”

“Benectus Salvi. Third son of some noble family.”

“The Salvis are not _some_ noble family. They’re a bunch of metalworkers who made their fortune in gold. Their most lucrative contract is maintaining the Gilded Plaza.”

“And Hi—he has somehow convinced one of their sons to protect him from the Crows?” Zevran frowned. “I remember him as being quite the talker, but when would he have the chance to strike up such a relationship?”

“I sent him to fulfill a contract this past Wintersend. It was at a ball with many young lords and ladies in attendance. I warned him to keep his hands to himself, but he returned to me with his doublet buttoned wrong. Perhaps they met on that night.” She shrugged. “He didn’t tell me, but he didn’t have to. I should have suspected something was amiss. He hadn’t settled into his newfound freedom quite as easily as I’d hoped.”

“What do you mean?”

“His final trial was last year, and I’ve sent him to fulfill three contracts since then.” Master Sillitta emptied her glass and set it on the cushion in front of her. “When I was made a Crow, I couldn’t wait to test the limits of my freedom. But when he was made a Crow, he was no happier than when he was an apprentice. It was the Wintersend contract that brought him out of his shell. Or perhaps it was that boy.”

“This patron must be impressive to convince someone to leave the Crows.”

Master Sillitta was quiet for a moment. She didn’t say whatever was on her mind, instead pulling herself off the loveseat and taking the empty glass with her. “But that’s all I have for you,” she said abruptly. “You’ll have to figure out the rest for yourself.”

Zevran finished the rest of his brandy and rose to his feet. He was a little tipsy, but not too impaired to find his way back to the recruits’ apartments. “Gracias, Maestra. I appreciate it.” He left his glass on one of the little end tables, flashing her another charming smile as he straightened upright. “You’ll have to tell me where you’re moving so I can send you that letter.”

Master Sillitta smirked. “I’ll be carrying out contracts in Treviso.”

“That’s Valisti territory. Isn’t that dangerous?”

Her smile widened. “It is.”

Zevran sensed something behind her smile, something not altogether happy. He had no words for it. Instead, he bowed before leaving. “Goodbye, Maestra.”

He left the villa with the liquor humming in his veins. The name of Andraste’s mother came to him halfway back to their apartment. Brona. Her name was Brona.

***

Night had fallen and Zevran was fully sober by the time he reached their apartment in the leather-making district. The tanneries had shut down for the evening, but the stench reached him long before the apartment came into view. It occurred to him that they could move away once they were made Crows. Where would they move? Would the three of them still live together? Master Eoman probably had thoughts on the matter, but he realized for the first time they would soon have a choice where they’d long had none.

Rinna and Taliesen were sitting cross-legged on her bed when Zevran reached their quarters on the third floor. A sheet of parchment was laid out between them, marked with sweeping lines and crude labels.

“There you are.” Taliesen grinned at him. “We were starting to think we wouldn’t see you again until morning.”

“Not for lack of trying, but alas, Master Sillitta wasn’t interested.” Zevran sighed theatrically and plopped down on the edge of her bed.

Before he could get comfortable, Rinna snapped her fingers at him. “Hey. Boots.”

“Such a cruel taskmistress,” Zevran teased as he obliged. He eyed the map as he tugged off his boots. “And these are the holdings of the Salvi family?”

Taliesen nodded. “Villa La Cuesta. It’s all I managed to sketch in a few hours, and it’s looking more and more like a wasted effort,” he explained glumly. “They have enough coin for a small army and appeared to have hired one. The villa is defensible and hard to break into, and the lady of the house has been inviting her friends over for Summerday.”

“A mass hiring would make it easier to sneak in among the guard, but we run the risk of Hillel recognizing us. Or we could break in during the night and slit their throats while they sleep. But it’s too likely that things will go sideways. Our best odds for success would be to catch our marks would be outside the villa, away from _all_ of this.” Rinna gestured vaguely to the map. “But we don’t know when exactly they’ll leave, or which trip will be the one that takes them out of Antiva. We’d have to sit on it for days.”

“I think a carriage rolling up with all their luggage would be a dead giveaway,” Taliesen teased. “You know what those types are like. Can’t go anywhere without at least three chests stuffed with just their boots.”

Rinna laughed and swatted him affectionately. “Alright, point. But what entrance does the carriage go to? There are three entrances and two roads. And I don’t like not knowing where they’re going. If they’re going straight down to a ship, then this road back here—” She pointed to a narrow lane branching away from a servant’s entrance. “—This is our best chance for taking them out. But if they’re taking ship from Treviso or Rialto, there’s a lot of back roads that are completely unwatched. See my point?”

“Sí, sí.” Taliesen sighed and leaned back, placing his hands, palms down, on the mattress behind him and resting his weight on his arms. “We saw him while we were looking around. Hillel. He was up there in one of the rooms, alone with Salvi. It looked…” He struggled for a word. “Intimate.”

Zevran shrugged. “That’s not surprising.”

Taliesen raised an eyebrow. “It isn’t?”

“Not after hearing what his former master had to say.” Zevran leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “She suspects they met when she sent him to carry out a contract last Wintersend. Something about this boy bringing him out of his shell? She didn’t call it a relationship or an affair, but it’s something.”

“Is that it?” Rinna sounded disappointed. “How boring.”

“You were expecting something different?”

“Third son of a noble buys himself a pet Crow. You’d think he would, I don’t know, use him to _assassinate_ people. Maybe his older siblings, maybe rivals to his family’s business, _something_. Running away because he fell in love? That’s cheap.”

Zevran offered her a wry smile. “I’ll be sure to let him know of your disappointment right before I kill him. He’ll be _so_ wounded, he might even cry.”

Rinna rolled her eyes. “You jest, but…” She trailed off thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose that makes it easier. If Salvi has no intention of making use of his new Crow, then it’s more likely they’ll stay in one place until they’re ready to leave.”

“Then we agree that I get to kill him? Excellent.” Zevran didn’t know why the thought genuinely pleased him, but he didn’t linger on it. “As for everything else, how do we go about this?”

“What Taliesen said about ‘noble types’ has me thinking—this boy is more likely to go to another of his family’s holdings than flee somewhere he doesn’t have coin or standing,” Rinna mused, studying the map. “The majordomo’s office will likely have documents about any other properties the Salvis own. We’ll have to break in and steal it, and that will give us an idea of where they’re going. And we’ll have to keep watch on these two roads. There’s one spot on the roof where you can see both roads. Someone will always have to be there. They’re more likely to leave at night, but we can’t take the risk that they’ll slip out during the day.”

“You just said it yourself that breaking in is going to be difficult,” Taliesen said.

“That’s why I’m going to do it,” Rinna replied, her brown eyes glittering. “We only have one chance to do this, and neither of you know what you’re looking for.”

***

It was so late it was early, and Zevran’s legs were starting to fall asleep. He wore black for the occasion, so no one noticed when he straightened upright and stretched out his muscles, rubbing the blood flow back into them. As the night wore on, he was having to do this more and more often.

The nights were still cold even in the springtime, and the fact that Zevran was tired wasn’t helping much. He’d attempted to sleep late into the day to prepare for his first overnight shift but woke up early in the morning. Even a short nap late in the afternoon wasn’t enough to make up for poor sleep. He just had to hold out for a short while longer. The hour held the crisp smell and taste of the oncoming dawn, and soon Taliesen would arrive to relieve him.

Taliesen had the harder job. Too much light, too many people, no chance of relief until the evening. No one could suspect that the Crows were watching them from the roof of the villa, or they’d come back to find the guards doubled with archers. If there were any mercenaries left to hire in Antiva City.

Zevran counted a dozen even in the dead of night, and new faces after midnight meant none of them were kept around for longer than six or eight hours. He tripled the number at least but assumed there were plenty more inside the villa. It was hard to tell if the Salvis were justifiably paranoid or not. Maybe they knew what their son was up to? Or maybe they had fended off the Crows from rivals that wanted that Gilded Plaza contract.

Rinna had broken into Villa La Cuesta some hours ago. Zevran waited for an alarm, but he’d heard nothing but the bored chatter of mercenaries. He hadn’t seen her leave but assumed she had slipped out again. She wasn’t supposed to find him on the roof, she was supposed to go back to their apartment.

And so far, there had been no sign of Hillel or Salvi.

Zevran couldn’t make up his mind on whether he wanted to see Hillel. He wanted to see him, wanted to see if he was the same or if he’d changed somehow. He wanted to see him so he could kill him and fulfill the contract. It was ridiculous how a few hours of flirting when they were both boys had affected him.

A light shone in the distance, catching his attention. A pale blue in stark contrast to the few burning torches around the villa—the light of a glowstone. It blinked at him twice, then a long pause, then once more. The signal repeated itself, then the pale blue light vanished.

Zevran’s ears twitched. That light came from a glowstone lantern. It was the signal they’d come up with for switching out their lookouts, but it was too early. He’d anchored a piece of rope to the roof but brought it up after him, leaving it coiled on the edge of the tiles. Zevran discreetly crossed over and tossed it down—and within a few minutes, Taliesen had climbed up over the edge.

“What are you doing here?” Zevran hissed.

“Rinna’s still not back,” Taliesen whispered as he stood up. He set the glowstone lantern on the tiles beside him. “What’s happening? Have you seen her?”

Zevran didn’t miss the concern in his tone. “There has been no alarm. Whatever has happened, she hasn’t been caught. And _you_ shouldn’t be here for a couple more hours.”

“How do you know she hasn’t been caught? What if they caught her quickly, so no alarm was needed?”

“I—I don’t know, but there has been no commotion at all. And if we go charging in there to rescue her when she might not need rescuing, an alarm will most certainly go up.”

“We should go in there. Find out what happened.”

“No.” Zevran reached out and grabbed Taliesen by the arm. He ignored his own sense of concern, the way a map to the majordomo’s office unfolded in his head, the fear of what they might find in there. “If she’s still in the villa, then we’ll put her at risk by coming after her. We must wait here. Stick to the plan.”

Taliesen made a noise of frustration but acquiesced. He had at least dressed for the daytime lookout: his leathers and cloak were a lighter shade of rust, meant to blend in during the day. If he’d slept at all that night, he made no show of it. He hunched down beside Zevran, looking very much like a disgruntled gargoyle, if gargoyles could be fifteen and handsome.

Zevran wanted to say something. About Rinna. About relationships. About _complications_. But Taliesen knew the dangers as well as he did, and now wasn’t the time. They waited in silence.

It was just before sunrise that a dark-skinned elven girl in a servant’s dress slipped out of the back entrance. She pulled up her hood and passed through the gates without making a sound. No one noticed her leave, except for the two of them on the roof. Zevran thought the sigh that came out of Taliesen was the first real breath he’d heard in hours.

***

Zevran was exhausted by the time he got back to their apartment. The morning was at its peak and the laborers were out in full force in the tanneries. Even the apartment was bustling with activity: he passed by Master Ordoño shepherding a group of eight wary recruits. The recruits seemed smaller and younger with every passing year. One barely reached his waist. Had he ever been that small?

He was prepared to throw himself onto his bed and sleep the day away when he got back to their quarters, but Rinna nearly pounced on him as soon as he opened the door. She was wide awake despite what must have been a sleepless night in the villa, and she’d already changed out of the servant’s dress into clean leathers.

“Look at this, Zev,” she said, pushing a contract into his face. “The Salvis own property in the Free Marches and Orlais. I suspect they intend to go to the property in Starkhaven. It’s the closest in distance but far enough away that they’d think no one could touch them there. I’ve already mapped out all possible routes from here to Starkhaven.”

Zevran groaned and pushed the contract away. “And that’s marvelous. Really. But it’s all Tevene to me without sleep.”

Rinna rolled up the contract with a huff. “ _Fine_. Get your sleep. We have to keep the watch going until the next step of the plan, anyway, so you’re still spending tonight at Villa La Cuesta.”

Zevran staggered over to his bed and slumped down on the mattress. He had barely enough energy to strip off his boots. “Tali was worried about you when you didn’t show up last night. He was fully prepared to break into the villa and rescue you.”

“‘Rescue’ me?” Rinna repeated with a giggle. “How heroic. What did I need rescuing from?”

“The family whose villa you broke into, perhaps? His concern wasn’t entirely unwarranted.”

“I never gave a time frame for how long it would take me. And I didn’t get caught,” Rinna said emphatically. “As it turns out, the majordomo was having an affair with one of the mercenaries. He returned while I was still going through his effects and before I had what I wanted. I had to hide and wait it out. And they were…in no hurry to leave.”

“Sounds like your night was more exciting than mine.”

“If you think listening to bad poetry for three hours is _exciting_ , by all means, next time we’ll send you in.”

Zevran laughed as he rolled over in bed. He meant to tease her—perhaps ask if there was anything she’d overheard that Taliesen would appreciate—but he was asleep before the words reached his lips.

***

It was late in the afternoon when Zevran awoke. His body ached in the way it aches after sleeping too heavily. Hours had passed and he was in the same position he’d fallen asleep in, although his braids had come undone, and there was an embarrassing trail of saliva from the corner of his mouth. Someone had covered him in his blankets. He didn’t remember doing it himself.

The likely culprit was in her own bed. Rinna had fallen asleep sitting upright, slouched against the wall with a pillow tucked behind her, her chin resting on her chest. The hand-drawn map was unfurled at her feet, covered with new amendments, and several official-looking papers piled nearby.

Zevran knew better than to wake her by touching her. They were supposed to be guarded even when they were asleep. Taliesen once nearly punched him in the jaw when he shook him awake by the shoulder. Zevran carelessly pulled himself out of bed, and she jerked awake at the sound of his wooden bed frame creaking. “Morning,” he greeted with a sleepy grin.

Rinna blinked at him, then looked around. “What—what time is it?”

“I don’t know, but late enough that I need to leave shortly.” Zevran took care to stretch his arms above his head. He shook out the partially undone plaits in his hair. “Anything I should pass along to Taliesen? Perhaps some terrible poetry?”

“No! You’re the worst.” Rinna chucked her pillow at him. She tried to look annoyed but yawned instead. “My best guess for their escape route is to the Salvi property in Starkhaven. And the quickest way there is to travel by ship down to Wycome, then by horse up to Starkhaven. Tell him that.”

Zevran deftly avoided the pillow. He grinned as he reached up and braided his hair by touch; he’d gotten good at it over the last few years. “And what does that mean for us?”

“It means I need to get down to the docks and find out if any ships are leaving for Starkhaven soon,” Rinna explained. “We’ll have an idea of our next step depending on the answer.”

***

“They’ve started packing,” Taliesen announced when Zevran joined him on the roof. Night had fallen, and no one had noticed the flickering light of his glowstone lamp or his quick traversing up the wall of Villa La Cuesta. Now the lamp was covered, and the two crouched near the edge of the tiles. Taliesen pointed straight down, indicating the son’s quarters underneath them.

“Rinna learned the Salvi family has property in Starkhaven,” Zevran explained quietly. “She suspects they will be taking a ship down to Wycome.”

“Good, because wherever they’re going, they’re leaving soon. Lord Salvi left first thing this morning to handle some business in Rialto, and his wife has been entertaining her guests for most of the day. They are completely unaware that their youngest has started tearing apart his room.”

“Do they plan to leave in the morning?”

“I don’t know.”

Zevran was quiet for a moment, looking down at the tiles underneath his feet, as if he could picture them sleeping together. It was hard to imagine living in a villa so spacious that a boy could do whatever he wanted for _days_ , if not weeks, without drawing notice to himself. He’d never so much as had his own room. “And what has Hillel been doing all day? Hiding?”

Taliesen shrugged. “I haven’t seen him leave the villa at all, but from what I’ve managed to overhear, he’s spending most of his time in his patron’s bedchamber. Maybe he knows that it’s dangerous to show his face around the city, and he’s laying low until they can escape.”

“Tell Rinna what you told me when we get back. She’s the one coming up with the plan.”

“She’s _always_ the one coming up with the plan.” Taliesen smirked, but then looked thoughtful. One might even accuse him of looking _concerned,_ but he tried to keep his tone conversational as he spoke. “How is she? Is she alright?”

“Of course, she is. She can take care of herself.”

“But the delay—”

“The majordomo’s affair interrupted her searching, and she had to wait out several hours of bad poetry to—or from?—his paramour before she could abscond with her ill-gotten papers.” Zevran reached out and gently touched Taliesen’s forearm, pointedly holding his gaze. “She’s _fine_ , Tali.”

Taliesen looked back at him for several long seconds before pulling his gaze away. He stood up abruptly. “Can’t fault me for worrying.”

Zevran stared down at the quiet courtyard. “The Crows can. And do.”

“Let them.” Taliesen gave a quiet chuckle and affectionately tugged his braid.

Zevran swatted his hand away, quickly reaching up to smooth out his hair. He ran his fingers over the plaits, checking that they were still straight and neat. “Shouldn’t you be getting home so you can catch up on rest?”

“I will be,” Taliesen said as he meandered over to where they’d anchored the rope. He plucked the covered lantern from the tiles and pulled up his hood, casting a long shadow over his handsome features. “Leave a note or something if they leave and you have to follow them before I come back. I’m heading up here regardless, so at least tell us if Rinna’s wrong about the ship.”

“You’ll know what I know,” Zevran promised.

***

An uneventful night became an uneventful morning.

Zevran entertained himself mostly with thoughts of how he was going to kill Hillel and the Salvi boy. Slitting their throats, he decided, was simple and efficient. Or he could string them up with a length of iron cord. Or he could poison them—there would be delicious irony, considering their last encounter. He’d long settled on killing the Salvi boy first. Some soft-handed noble would probably faint at the sight of blood, but Hillel had survived the same training they had. He could stomach it.

Taliesen returned just as the sky was growing light and appeared more than a little disappointed that he was still up there. “And here I was more than ready to finish this today,” he remarked as he pulled himself onto the roof. “You’d follow them down to the docks at sunup, we’d kill them before noon, and we’d spend the rest of the day celebrating our newfound freedom.”

Zevran grinned. “I’d spend the night at a whorehouse. Find some beauty to keep me company, maybe get my fortune told.”

“You wouldn’t celebrate with us?”

“…I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You could _never_ impose.” Taliesen rubbed the back of his neck, not quite making eye contact with him. “It wouldn’t feel right celebrating without you, Zev.”

Zevran knew the words meant more than they said. He picked up the covered lantern, feeling the weight in his hands. “I’ll see you tonight,” he whispered, keeping everything else unsaid, and climbed down the rope.

***

Their quarters were empty when Zevran returned. Today he had enough energy to strip off his boots _and_ his leathers before crawling underneath the blankets. He sprawled out and drifted off to sleep quickly, but it felt like he’d only been asleep for a few minutes when the door suddenly pushed open. He jerked out of sleep, twisting around to find an apologetic Rinna trying to quietly shut the door.

“Perdón.” Rinna raised a hand apologetically. “Did anything happen at the villa? Taliesen said they started packing yesterday.”

Zevran hunched forward as the blankets settled around his naked waist. He rubbed his face, vaguely aware of his braids hanging crookedly down the back of his neck. A glimpse through the arrowslit revealed it was later in the morning than he’d thought; he’d been asleep for at least several hours. “No, nothing really,” he mumbled sleepily. “Where were you? Down at the docks?”

Rinna wasn’t wearing her leathers. She wore a cotton dress belted at the waist, something she wore only when she was trying to go about unnoticed. “There _is_ a ship departing for Wycome. Tomorrow.” She paused to brush a few baby curls off her forehead. “And it’s full of wealthy merchants hoping to spend the summer in the Free Marches.”

“Plus, a thirdson and a former Crow.”

Rinna huffed. She crossed the room and settled down on the foot of his bed, folding her arms over her chest. “I had the opportunity to look into the captain: a Fereldan. Captain Warin Renham. I’d hoped to bribe the captain into refusing our soon-to-be victims. Make a dead end for them when they finally decide to leave. But there is no chance to grease some palms and hope he’ll look the other way. He’s not Antivan, and I’ve heard Fereldans can be…stubborn to a fault.” She sagged back onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how to make this a dead end. They could really slip through our fingers.”

“They’re not going to escape us.”

“My plans are falling apart.”

“It’s not falling apart.”

Rinna looked up at him. “If they escape to the Free Marches, it will be all my fault. And even if we hunted them down, Master Eoman would probably kill us just for failing the first time.” She sighed. “We should’ve broken into the villa and slit their throats while they were asleep.”

Zevran raised his eyebrows. “And risk the guard?”

Rinna considered this. “We need another plan for when they leave for the docks. Taliesen had the idea to plant someone under their carriage and kill them en route.”

“That’s a terrible idea. What if I fall off? What if my hair gets caught in the wheels? What if the driver notices a strapping young assassin stuck to the underside of his carriage?”

Rinna laughed. “That _would_ be a tragedy. I wouldn’t like you as much without the hair.”

“See? It’s part of my appeal. A necessary investment of House Arainai.”

“So, what do we do? How do we keep them from getting on the ship?”

“Assuming they _are_ getting on the ship?” Zevran tapped the side of his jaw with his forefinger. “Since bribing the captain is out, is there any other way to have them miss the ship? Perhaps sabotage the carriage and delay them on the road?”

“How would we do that any differently than just sticking you underneath the carriage?”

“Hmm. Point.”

“This Fereldan captain is ruining all of my plans,” Rinna complained with a groan. “If he were Antivan, I could just bribe him with something he likes and have him turn his head. Once they get down to the docks, they won’t go back to the villa. Too risky. We’d track them back to whatever room they rent for the night and kill them. Maybe flay Hillel and leave him on display with his crest for all to see.”

Zevran perked up at that. “Ooh, there’s an idea.”

Rinna blinked up at him. “The flaying?”

“I’ve been thinking about how I want to kill him, and I hadn’t even thought of _flaying_. That would be something. But messy. And time-consuming.” He shook his head as he realized that it would never work. “Ah, well, it’s a shame we can’t just kill this captain. A ship can’t get far without its captain, can it?”

“No. It can’t.”

“Does he like elves? Perhaps he might want to spend a night with a handsome elf with silken blond hair? And perhaps that night is so spectacular that he doesn’t want to get out of bed the next morning?”

“I witnessed him tearing into one of the elven dockworkers. Probably not, considering the number of times he managed to fit ‘knife-ear’ in a single breath.” Rinna fixed him with a sudden, intent look. “But you could poison him, couldn’t you? Just enough to make him sick—too sick to captain the ship?”

“There are a few things that I could put together with what we have on hand.” Zevran glanced up at the ceiling. Most of his training had been down here, under careful supervision, but he knew the alchemists did most of their work on the top floor. He’d gone up there once a couple of years ago and still remembered some of what he’d seen. “But we’d have to act quickly to have a stable solution administered with enough time to take effect.”

“We need him too sick to leave tomorrow.”

“The poison I have in mind will have to be introduced to his food. Can you handle that?”

Rinna propped herself up on her elbow and grinned. “If you can make the poison, I can feed it to him.”

***

Zevran found himself carefully preparing a poison on less than three hours of sleep. He was back on the top floor for the first time in several years, trying not to yawn as he trimmed several mildly poisonous herbs. This poison was meant to cultivate and emphasize the abdominal cramping symptoms of deep mushrooms.

“I thought my apprentice was up here.” Master Eoman’s voice came from behind him, and it took every ounce of self-control not to jump at the intrusion. He strolled into the laboratory and leaned against a bookshelf, cradling a hot cup of what smelled like coffee. “A poison derived from deep mushrooms. Not meant to kill, then.”

“No, it’s—” Zevran yawned again, barely managing to cover his mouth with the cleaner of his two hands, the one holding the knife. The other was gloved and carefully pinching together several tendrils of deathroot. “Our intended victims plan to escape on a ship. This poison will be for its captain. It won’t kill him, just give him a rather severe case of—”

“I know what deep mushrooms do,” Master Eoman interrupted. “Rather unfortunate the man won’t be able to tear himself away from the chamber pot long enough to captain anything. Why not bribe him?”

“He’s Fereldan.”

“Ah. The dog lords see bribes as insults, not as the cost of doing business. A rather unfortunate attitude when it comes to doing business in Antiva.”

“And that will be someone else’s problem, Maestro. We haven’t forgotten our parameters. He’ll live. Our victims won’t, but he will.”

“How much longer do you think it will take to complete this contract?”

“We sicken the captain tonight, ship gets delayed tomorrow, we kill them tomorrow evening,” Zevran recited. He was so tired that he was having to repeat the plan in his mind. “About a full day?” He yawned again and had to restrain himself from rubbing his eyes. Too much poisonous herb on his fingers. “Definitely less than two.”

“Isidora will be pleased. She’s eagerly awaiting the display of your kill.”

That gave Zevran pause. He should have known their grandmaster had her eyes on this contract—it was her name signed at the bottom—but he hadn’t even considered that she had more than a passing interest. Such an assumption was foolish on his part. “We’ll try not to disappoint her,” he remarked, letting his gaze settle on the pot. “Although this next part will be rather stomach-turning.”

Something touched his braid—it was Master Eoman, plucking it from above the curtain of his hair, twisting it in his fingers like it was a particularly interesting strand of rope. His spine went straight and rigid. “You have my utmost faith,” his master replied. “And I’m pleased to hear that you’ll be making the kill yourself. That seems the most appropriate for this contract.”

Zevran didn’t breathe again until he was alone.

***

“This will cause abdominal cramping, nausea, diarrhea, and a host of other uncomfortable symptoms,” Zevran explained as he handed the vial to Rinna. His poison had the murky look of the deep mushrooms. By then it was almost noon, and he felt nearly dead on his feet. “You won’t need much. No more than a single spoonful. It should begin to affect him within a few hours.”

Rinna eyed the vial speculatively. “How long will it last?”

Zevran shrugged. “No more than a full day, but the symptoms will render him too weak to do much of anything for the next few days. Long enough to delay his ship and for us to get our kill.”

“Good. Perfect. This is _exactly_ what we needed.” Rinna stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Get some sleep, Zev. I can handle the rest without you.”

Zevran thought about stopping her, about warning her that Grandmaster Isidora was personally invested in their handling of the contract. But he let her go without the warning. They didn’t need to know whose eyes were on them. He fell into his bed as she slipped out the door.

***

Rinna still hadn’t returned by the time Zevran woke up, but it was so late in the afternoon that he couldn’t afford to waste time waiting on her. He cleaned himself up and headed out of the apartment, trusting that everything was still going to plan. It was a position he was finding himself in more and more frequently. They were so close to cornering their prey.

Zevran delivered the details of their plan to Taliesen once he’d joined him on the roof. He didn’t tell him about Master Eoman or what he’d said about Grandmaster Isidora.

“Good,” Taliesen muttered once he’d finished. “This will all be over soon.”

Zevran agreed. He had been more eager to carry out the kill when they were first given the contract; after several days of erratic sleep and long nights spent up on the roof, he was more eager just to be done with it.

***

An hour before midnight, Zevran heard voices drifting up from below his vantage.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No, but you should. Don’t worry about me.”

The first voice was unfamiliar, but the second was not: Hillel. His voice had deepened in the years since their first and last encounter, but it was most certainly him. He assumed the first voice belonged to the Salvi boy.

Zevran was surprised that it took so long to hear from them. He’d started to think he was mistaken about which bedchamber was attached to which balcony. Taliesen’s hastily sketched map hadn’t given them much insight to the interior layout. But he was apparently mistaken about being mistaken. If Hillel thought he was being cautious by remaining indoors, it wouldn’t be enough to save him. He crept closer to the balcony, wary of his footing. The tiles could be slippery if he wasn’t paying attention.

“Everything has been handled,” the boy was saying, “and all we have to do is make it down to the docks. We’ll be gone from Antiva by tomorrow evening.”

Rinna was correct in her assumption about the docks. Zevran would have to tell her later; she’d be pleased to know it.

It was too dangerous to get close enough to the balcony to see over the edge of the roof, so Zevran was forced to stay back and out of sight. But he could hear them quite clearly: the sound of fabric rustling, the sound of leather boots creaking, the sound of quiet breathing. He imagined them standing together like lovers. When Taliesen told him that he’d seen them being intimate together, this wasn’t what had come to mind.

“Once we leave, we can’t come back,” Hillel murmured, soft enough that Zevran had to strain his ears to hear him clearly. He dared another step closer. “The Crows have the run of Antiva. They would kill us both if we ever dared to return. Are you sure you want this, Bene?”

“I’ll miss Antiva, but I have no doubts about this,” the Salvi boy replied. “As long as the Crows leave the rest of my family alone, I’m content.”

Zevran smirked in the shadows above them. It was clear that Hillel had no idea the contract had already been issued, his paramour’s life was already forfeit. And they would hound him across Thedas. Antivan borders meant little to the Crows. Their master had already made it clear that he expected them to follow wherever they fled.

Hillel snorted. “I won’t miss this place at all,” he said with a measure of disgust in his tone. “The Crows have spoiled it for me. It’s just a land of killers and enablers to me. I won’t be sorry to never see it again.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh, mi amor?” Salvi questioned. ( _Mi amor_ , Zevran repeated in his mind.) His question was followed by the rustling of fabric, the shifting of weight on the stone balcony. One man turning to face another. “Antiva isn’t responsible for what was done to you. The fault lies with the Crows.”

“And there’s a difference?” Hillel snarled with a surprising amount of venom. His voice carried as he spoke, from one end of the balcony to the other. He was pacing. “My master tried to _drown_ me once, do you know that? It was during a practiced interrogation. I nearly died. And my master before her was just as cruel. He poisoned us, lied to us, misled us. All that and for what? To spend my life seducing those old fuckers? Why not just open a brothel and be done with it?”

A long silence followed. Salvi murmured something that sounded like an apology. More fabric rustling, the scuffing of leather soles on stone.

“No, it’s—you don’t know,” Hillel said quietly in response. “Your life has been so idyllic, and the Crows don’t make it easy to disbelieve them.”

“I believe you.”

“…I know.”

Zevran listened as the conversation fell silent. It was replaced by the rustling of fabric, the wet sounds of gentle kissing. Someone groaned low in their throat. Salvi or Hillel, he wasn’t sure, but he suspected Salvi. A hot flush spread across his chest underneath his leathers, but he was spared further, indiscreet noises when they abruptly broke apart.

“Inside.” Hillel’s voice was low and commanding. “Not out here.”

“Sí, amor,” Salvi breathed, voice hitching. And then they left the balcony together.

Zevran considered giving it some time and surprising them in the bedchamber. It would be simple enough just to kill them both and be done with it. He could almost map out the scene in his head: quietly dropping down onto the balcony, sneaking into the room while they were distracted with each other. His chest felt tight. He could almost imagine the warmth that would radiate off Hillel as he slung one arm around his shoulders and slit his throat. It made his pulse quicken to think about it.

He shook the image from his head. Even if he was successful, there was a small army in and around the villa. A dozen guards in the courtyard alone. More inside. He might be successful in completing the contract, but odds were against him that he would make it out alive.

Zevran spent the rest of the night quietly watching and waiting for the moment of their escape. But he couldn’t help but think that Rinna was right: it _was_ disappointing that all they were doing was eloping. He’d expected something more from Hillel, although he didn’t know what.

***

Only the hired guards had come and gone from the villa by the time Taliesen reached Zevran on the roof. He relayed what he’d overheard as he prepared to leave. The conversation between Hillel and Salvi had confirmed, at least, that their hunt was nearing its end.

“Rinna came back late last night,” Taliesen whispered. “Our good captain was shitting his guts out when she left.”

“He’ll recover in a few days. They—” Zevran pointed down, gesturing vaguely to Hillel and Salvi, “—plan to leave some time this morning. Stay on them. Rinna and I will meet you down at the docks after sundown.”

“Look for the glowstone lamp. Same signal as before.”

“And Tali?” Zevran looked at him, inexplicably feeling concerned. “Be careful, alright?”

“I’m _always_ careful. And you’re getting as bad as Rinna.” Taliesen waved him off. “Now leave while you still have the chance.”

Zevran absconded from the roof under cover of darkness. He tried to put his concerns out of his mind as he headed back to their apartment. Soon, this would all be over, and they would be Crows.

***

A blinking, pale blue light led them to a tavern overlooking the docks. It was one of the nicer establishments, which had good wine and clean floors and catered largely to tourists and wealthy merchants. The east-facing rooms all offered a view of the glittering Rialto Bay, bisected by the maze-like docks, studded with the distant profiles of ships. It was late and growing dark, the sun reduced to a little golden sliver at the skyline, dark blue chasing across from the east.

Zevran and Rinna traveled without making a noise, each cloaked and dressed in their leathers, between them carrying an assortment of daggers and two lengths of iron cord. He hadn’t slept well that day, but now he felt wide awake. He couldn’t hold back a grin when they joined Taliesen on the roof of the tavern.

“Top floor, north-west corner,” Taliesen whispered.

“Hold on.” Zevran gestured for his daggers, and once Taliesen handed them over, he took a moment to poison the blades. “House Arainai’s recipe for Crow poison. Causes temporary paralysis. Just in case they survive the first stabbing.”

Taliesen led them down from the roof. They were forced to shimmy across an overhang, reduced to crawling underneath the windows of unsuspecting tenants, but soon found themselves crouching beneath the window of their intended victims. Zevran’s heart was racing fast, despite his attempts to calm himself. He couldn’t tell if he was eager or nervous or apprehensive. It was a tangle of electric emotions, buzzing in his brain.

Salvi and Hillel were having some sort of an argument. It was loud inside the tavern, which would work to their benefit. Too many voices talking, too many knives scraped against plates, too many bodies shuffling about. It was crowded beyond the tavern’s capacity, and the ship’s delay was likely the reason for it.

Zevran could hear some of the argument through the window. “Amor, _please_ ,” Salvi pleaded. “We’ll be safe here for tonight. We haven’t seen anything from the Crows—”

“No,” Hillel cut him off, his voice an impatient growl. “Something’s wrong. I’m going to check the perimeter again.”

“Nothing is wrong. The ship’s delay doesn’t mean anything—”

“Of course, it does. How can you even think that, considering our circumstances?”

“When will you stop imagining Crows where there are none?”

“When we can no longer see Antiva!” Hillel muttered something under his breath. Zevran was surprised to hear him sound so distressed; it didn’t fit the boy that he remembered at all. But it also pleased him to know that they’d gotten under his skin. “Stay here, amor. I’ll be back soon.” They listened to the door open and shut, then a weight sagged on the edge of a bed that creaked.

Taliesen met their eyes and raised his eyebrows. None of them dared to speak, the decision was communicated in gestures: Rinna nodded, Zevran quietly unsheathed one dagger. Taliesen grinned before straightening upright and pushing open the window.

The young Salvi jumped to his feet as soon as the window was shoved open. A look of panic chased across his features—but he made it only three steps across the room before Zevran hurled his dagger at the door. Salvi let out a startled yelp and backtracked so quickly that he lost his footing and fell onto the floor. He landed on his ass and immediately collapsed on himself, covering his face.

Zevran finally had the chance to get a good look at the man Hillel planned to elope with. He wasn’t sure what he’d been picturing, but the young man quaking on the floor in front of them wasn’t it. Perhaps nineteen or twenty, he was fair-skinned and dark-haired, with large, expressive eyes and a full mouth. His clothes were so nice that it was a wonder no one had pickpocketed him yet. Or maybe he’d had, but he wore so many gold rings and bracelets that he couldn’t have noticed.

“Take what you want!” Salvi pleaded through the gaps in his arms. “Just don’t hurt me!”

“Signore Salvi,” Rinna said dryly, “we’re not here to _rob_ you.”

Salvi lowered his arms out of confusion, looking at the three of them again. “You are—you are with the Crows? But how can you be with the Crows? You’re just children.”

Taliesen rolled his eyes. “This from the man that has nearly wet himself on the floor.”

Zevran watched Rinna’s eyes go to the window a second before he heard it himself: quick, careless footsteps striding down the alley outside. Hillel would be upon them as soon as he discovered the window to their room was open. Rinna immediately dashed across the room and retrieved Zevran’s dagger from where it had lodged in the doorframe. “Make it quick, Tali,” she called over her shoulder.

Taliesen seized Salvi by his thick curls and held his dagger to his throat.

Salvi, though, seemed to think he still had a chance to talk his way out of his death. “Please, please,” he pleaded. “You don’t have to do this! I’ll give you whatever you want—money, gold, uh, my family is wealthy, we could—”

He was cut off mid-sentence as Taliesen jerked his head back and slit his throat. His mouth went slack. A look of confusion chased across his features, his brown eyes moving from one of his assassins to the others, as though pleading with them for help even as he quickly bled to death. Blood ran in rivulets from the wound to his collar, blossoming across the very nice silk. His hands dropped to the floor with a heavy _thump!_

Zevran almost couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Taliesen towering over the corpse, bloody dagger in one hand, fistful of the man’s curls in the other. It made his chest tight.

“Bene!” There came the shout that they’d been waiting for. Rinna immediately relocated beside the window, tossing the poisoned dagger over to Zevran, who caught it by the tip and flipped it to the handle. They heard the footsteps against the wall, hands on the overhang, and then Hillel hauled himself through the window.

Hillel had changed a lot over the last few years: he was at least a head taller, and his coppery curls were pulled into a loose braid that hung straight down his back. He wore leathers instead of finery and had two daggers strapped to his hips. His gaze briefly moved to Salvi, taking in his death, before settling on Taliesen. “He wasn’t even armed,” was all he said.

“He didn’t have to be.” Taliesen released the corpse’s hair, and it sagged against the bed on the way down. “Weren’t you made a Crow last year? You know how this works. You know what happens once a house accepts a contract.”

Hillel reached for one of his daggers, but Rinna was quicker. She looped an iron cord around his throat and drew it tight. The surprise that chased across his features made it clear that he hadn’t noticed her hiding beside the window. She jerked down on the cord, forcing his spine to bend and his knees to buckle. He dropped his dagger as he reached for the cord, cutting deeply into his neck. His eyes watered and his face reddened. Her features were pinched as she strangled him, her dark eyes flashing dangerously.

“I thought we agreed that I was going to be the one to kill him,” Zevran remarked. He watched Hillel’s struggling dispassionately. “I suppose—”

Hillel gave up on the cord and stumbled backward, blindly shoving Rinna into the wall. It was hard enough to rattle the little framed pictures. She crumpled to the floor, dropping the cord on the way down. Hillel ripped his second dagger from its sheath as soon as he was free—but as he swung at Zevran, Taliesen parried with enough strength to knock the weapon out of his hands. Zevran instinctively fell back a step—the arcing blow was too close for comfort—but it wasn’t enough. Hillel threw himself at him, seizing him around the waist, and both of them toppled out of the window.

The ground rushed up to meet Zevran. He landed on his back, the breath knocked from his lungs. All he could do for a moment was just blink blearily up at the night sky. The stars were beginning to appear. He groaned and tried to roll over onto his side, and from the edge of his vision, he watched as his intended victim rose to his feet.

Hillel pinned him to the ground, slinging one leg over his chest and wrapping both hands around his throat. His coppery curls had fallen loose from his braid and hung around his face in a way that Zevran found oddly attractive. If he was capable of breathing, he would’ve laughed at himself for noticing something so ridiculous.

“How many times did they have to ask to get you to agree?” Hillel growled. His entire body was tense, his fingers digging into Zevran’s throat. “Was it even once? Or did you offer as soon as you found out?”

Zevran could hear his pulse beating in his ears. He tried to pry off those fingers digging into his throat, but it was quickly becoming clear that he wasn’t strong enough. It felt like all the blood was forced up into his face. He blindly groped around his leg, hoping at least one of his daggers had survived the fall. And one had—the one tucked into his boot. He whipped it out and drove it into Hillel’s thigh. Hillel cried out and momentarily released him, hands flying down to the dagger stuck in his leg. Zevran shoved him onto his back and climbed on top. He straddled Hillel’s chest and ripped the dagger out of the opposite boot, pressing it to his throat.

Hillel went still but managed to glare at him from above the glint of the blade. Zevran grinned. He felt his pulse in the sides of his neck and knew there would be swelling tomorrow. But this? Being on top, having his prey pinned down, dagger to the neck? It _excited_ him. He only wished there was a way to drag it out.

Zevran was breathing hard. But it felt so good. “They asked,” he panted. “And I didn’t know that you’d turned traitor until they told me.”

“It won’t matter to them,” Hillel whispered. “None of it matters. You’re still expendable to them.”

“How fortunate that I’m at least enjoying myself, hm?” Zevran taunted, then slit his throat.

Alarm and panic chased across Hillel’s features. One hand flew up to his throat, but there was no holding back the river of blood that poured down. Zevran sat back on his heels and watched as he writhed and gurgled; at one point, he made a noise, a cough or a gurgle, but deeper, and spat blood up at him. He recoiled in disgust. It wasn’t even clear if it was one last conscious decision to literally spit in his face or if it was just the body’s last attempt at sucking in air before he died. But it didn’t matter. Hillel died underneath him, his eyes open and glassy as he finally went still. It made him think of Joia.

Rinna and Taliesen watched him from the overhang. He couldn’t quite make out their expressions in the darkened alleyway.

Zevran finally stood. “He got blood all over me,” he complained, gesturing to himself.

They burst into laughter before dropping down to join him in the alley.

It took all three of them to carry Hillel’s body through the window and back into their tavern room. No one had come to check on them, but they worked quickly. They strung up Hillel’s corpse in the middle of the room with a length of iron cord. Zevran peeled off his leather cuirass, bearing the crest of House Arainai tattooed on his upper back, and drove one of his daggers through its center. Anyone would recognize a Crow dagger. Rinna discovered, as she was moving Salvi’s corpse onto the bed, that one of his many golden rings bore his family crest. She tugged it off and shoved it in his mouth.

Zevran rifled through their effects before they left. He discovered that Salvi had packed a not-insignificant amount of gold jewelry—perhaps the lovers didn’t plan to _stay_ in Starkhaven—and pocketed a few trinkets.

They left before the guards arrived, laughing all the way back to the leather-making district.

***

“No, wait, before we go in…” Rinna was still laughing even as she spoke, stopping them outside Master Eoman’s quarters. She retrieved a handkerchief tucked away in the straps of her leather cuirass and motioned for Zevran to stand still. “Zev, you still have blood on you.”

Zevran had tried to clean himself up as much as possible. He’d found a bit of dirt in his hair and arterial spray on his cuirass that he hadn’t even noticed earlier. Small splatters of blood dotted his front. He grimaced. “I think Taliesen had the right of it, slitting that boy’s throat from behind.”

Rinna held his chin with one hand and gingerly wiped away the traces of blood with the other. “We should at least _try_ to look presentable.”

“But no one can accuse us of failure with this much blood still on us,” Taliesen pointed out. He had blood splatter down his right arm and across his leathers. Rinna’s fingers were bloody with clean lines cut through the blood splatter, where she’d had the cord wrapped around her hands. Neither of them were quite as bloody as Zevran had managed to get himself.

Zevran glanced at himself once Rinna released him. It was easier to see all the red by candlelight. He’d need to wash it off properly with soap later. “I think I look quite fetching in red, don’t you agree?” he teased, gesturing to himself.

“I know I do,” Taliesen murmured before he pushed past and opened the door. Rinna caught Zevran’s eye and winked at him before following in.

Something had changed between the three of them. It wasn’t the same friendship or comraderie they’d had before. It was something different. Something complicated.

Master Eoman awaited them in his sitting room. He wasn’t alone: a woman sat with him, dressed in patterned silks of red and gold and green. She was several decades older, her hair streaked with gray, fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Zevran had seen her once before and recognized her immediately: Grandmaster Isidora. Rinna and Taliesen weren’t quick enough in hiding their surprise. Zevran had never told them what Master Eoman told him.

Neither said anything, so as the three of them crouched on the floor, Rinna spoke up: “We completed the contract on Hillel and Benectus Salvi.”

When Master Eoman spoke, it was a question: “Why the tavern and not the villa?”

Zevran shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew the details, but he was still impressed that he’d learned so much in the time it had taken them to get back.

Rinna was the one who answered. Her tone was wary, as if she wasn’t sure if he was pleased. “The villa was too heavily defended. It was easier to lure them out and corner them away from their family’s guards.”

“Impressive. Shepherding your victims to where you want to kill them without them ever knowing.” His approval made the tension ease from their shoulders. “Lady Salvi was just alerted of her son’s death and the truth of his paramour within the last hour. She has sent for her husband to return to Antiva City. It would appear that she truly had no idea her son was attempting to shelter a wayward Crow.”

Grandmaster Isidora leaned forward, but when she spoke, she directed her praise at their master. “Your apprentices have performed admirably, Eoman. I expect they will continue to do so as Crows for House Arainai.”

Master Eoman smiled, apparently in agreement. Zevran thought immediately of his promise to Master Sillitta. _On this day in Bloomingtide_ …He’d have to write that letter and send it to Treviso after all.

***

**9:20 Dragon, 23 Bloomingtide**

Grandmaster Arainai,

Allow me to express my regrets for the business between our youngest son and the former member of your house. My husband and I were completely unaware that our Benectus had struck up an illicit relationship with a traitor. We had no idea that his dalliance was even a trained Crow. We were fooled by his lies, although I am sure the success of his deception means little now.

Benectus has been officially disowned and his remains interred with the Chantry. Had we known that his affair was with a traitor, we would have cast him out. But as we are well beyond this point, please allow me to arrange a considerable donation to House Arainai. And, of course, we would be willing to offer a generous discount on my family’s services should you have need of them. I’m sure you’re familiar with our work.

This is a surprise and a shock to us all. May the Maker watch over you in these difficult times.

Lady Orabella Salvi

— _a letter sent to Villa Arainai a Ciudad Antiva_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no canonical reference for _when_ , exactly, House Arainai was founded, so I made something up! Now they're one of the few houses that predate the Qunari occupation of Antiva in the Storm & Steel Ages.


End file.
